


The Story of Us

by MaryLaine



Category: Ylvis
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Love, Music, Romance, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 23:55:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 89,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2366654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryLaine/pseuds/MaryLaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary Laine is a singer in a rock'n'roll band and just happens to meet the Ylvis brothers during her band's tour in Norway. As she's struggling with a drug addiction and a conviction that there's absolutely nothing wrong with her, she gets Bård's attention through her music who would eventually save her life (or not?).<br/>As the story evolves through drama, humour, romance, music, drugs, hurt and comfort, Mary Laine manages to find her way of life at last, but could it be too late?</p><p>Written in an AU where the Ylvis brothers' lives have little to do with reality and are almost completely fictional, which is my way of being respectful to their privacy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Hello dear person who stumbled upon my story!  
> I joined the Ylvis fandom only very recently, and as a passionate writer, I decided I should give this story a try. I must warn you that English is not my first language, so it is safe to say that grammar and vocabulary mistakes are to be expected. Nevertheless, I hope you will stick with me as I do my best to update frequently, and any kind of feedback is very welcome.  
> Now, on to the first chapter!

It all began with a kiss.

A drunken kiss, to be more exact.

In fact, alcohol is the least of my worries as I try to remember the list of drugs that took part in that kiss, now that we're being precise.

But nevertheless, it was indeed a kiss that was the beginning of it all, a kiss that was more inebriating than whatever shit I was on that particular night.

The famous "sex, drugs and rock'n'roll" slogan spells every gig out as correctly as it can get. After all, those few words have stuck around through quite some time now, and for a good reason too. They are indeed the suitable description, except for the small detail that it all happens the other way around—for me at least. First, the music blasts, choking up a room of people out of which most have already gotten to the second step of the slogan. The air is usually thick with smoke; even before the band jumps off, and at times it makes me wonder how the music actually manages to float through. Then, after a round of applause, the drugs come out of nowhere in the shape of an oh-so-inviting, rechargeable guide to a yet another show, completely different from a gig for sure, but all the same fun. And then, last but not least—the sex. All kinds of it, actually. Sex with older men, sex with younger men, sex with women, sex with teenagers, even. But that's the thing about Sex, Drugs and Rock'n'roll—it's the lethal Almighty Three combination that make a person completely oblivious to any surroundings that take place. And so sex becomes _only_ sex, and sex is good.

On this fine, particular night, I was definitely looking for sex when I saw _him_. Or maybe sex was looking for me. Whichever case it might have been, we sure did find each other in the end.

He looked quite tall as he leaned over the bar to take his drink when he fell into my eye. Something about him intrigued me right from the very first moment. It struck me as an odd feeling of familiarity, as though somehow my eyes were plainly _supposed to_ land on him, to inspect him as something already close to my soul. Or rather, as if something more powerful than either of us had taken over and presented him to me. I watched him closely. He must have smiled to the barman, because as he turned, his lips were positioned slightly upwards and there was a tiny spark in his gaze. And then, before I even had a chance to take a better look at him, he saw me. It seemed like he forgot about any sort of movement he had submitted to earlier as he scanned my figure from where he froze—or he simply paused from the world for the shortest of moments—but nevertheless, his recovery was quick. His manner spelled out confidence that was visible from whichever distance that parted us, even through all the smoke, even through my clouded mind. His eyes pierced me; his head was tilted aside with a hint of a simper. Every single motion, every expression cried of obvious interest.

So I did what a girl does best: I smiled.

Then, since I'd never taken stock in decency rules, I began my battle through the crowd to get all the way to him. I would not wait. He appeared to realize my intention within moments, but that didn't stop him from falling into conversation with some man to his left, who stole his attention. For a moment, and for reasons I could not explain, I stopped mid-strut, wanting to turn around and leave him be. To simply find someone else. However, just as I was about to shake the idea of him off, I caught sight of him again through a gap of the two people who separated us from one another, and surely enough, his gaze was fixed on me. It was all the encouragement I needed. I took those last few steps that would take me to the man who would shake up my soul. And somehow, I knew that he'd do so right away. It was like a feeling inside of me, a feeling that promised something new, something different and exciting was on its way.

Had there been people who'd have observed our first meeting, they probably would have concluded that we were pretty high on _whatever_. But then again, I definitely was miles and miles higher above the ground, so that would explain a lot about my reaction. As for his... that's a completely different story I would love to hear someday soon. From him in person, hopefully.

 _"Reaction"_ is too strong of a word for it, carrying things too far out of depiction. In fact, it was not much of a reaction in any way. I stood there and stared at him. He, more than half a head taller than me, looked down at me with wordless interest, a tiny hint of amusement curving up the corners of his lips. Of one thing I was sure—he was analysing me. His eyes dug deeply into mine, and then quickly, but carefully slid to my lips, before travelling back to reconnect our gaze in such a swift way. The man he spoke to moments earlier went silent after a few sentences, probably realizing that his words fell dead into the air. He was unregistered by either of us; goodness, we could only stare at one another, escaping from the reality that surrounded us in an easy step to a world of our own. If anything, it was ridiculously silly on so many levels; we didn't even know each other.

After a short infinity, he took a small step towards me, nearly completely closing all the space between us. He leaned so near my face, that I could feel his warm breath on my skin. It was a sudden, smooth action. Before I could process it all, I heard his voice in my ear. Through the loud music and my fuzzy thoughts, I tried my best to focus.

"It was a great show," is what I think he said.

Then, he stepped away. Even before I could even begin to wonder about his very rapid approach, it was already over.

But I didn't miss a beat.  With my most charming smile, I lifted my weight on my toes and hurried with a response. "It was a great audience."

I, of course, hadn't seen him before in the crowd, but it was a phrase that had stuck with me since the beginning of my musical career. Or rather, since my band got good enough to be complimented. It was a way of being thankful.

After this one utterance, I was half a step away from him once again and watched him take a sip from his glass. Then, as if he had finally remembered, he turned to the man next to him. They exchanged a couple of words I couldn't decipher through the booming sounds, so instead I took a good look at the man he talked to. Tall, long-haired, presumably blonde (through the darkened room and club lighting it was hard to assess), dressed in black, a description that meant nothing to me before I could see his face. Once I did, recognition took over and I tried to remember if he had been the drummer or the guitar player from the band that played before us.

But he surely seemed to recognize me. It didn't take long for him to turn his attention to me, telling me what a great performance it was, in a very, very heavy Norwegian accent. I smiled politely and gave a compliment in return, before the guy took my hand out of nowhere, waved a quick goodbye and lead me to a quieter place I knew all too well—a dressing room backstage. That must have been the shortest walk through a club I had taken in my life, either because he knew how to find his way through a crowd of people, or probably because I was too focused on his long, soft fingers that fit perfectly with mine. 

We stood there facing one another. There was not much light, but his blue eyes were very visible, smiling. Mesmeric. I wondered whether it was this tunnel vision effect drugs had on me sometimes, or if his eyes were really that magnetic, stealing so much attention.

The silence that overtook us made the whole moment complete, oddly enough. It wasn't awkward in any way, in fact it felt like a quite necessary addition to this way of exploration of one another we had submitted to wordlessly.

Next, we took up a staring contest. I had no idea whether it was an intentional, conscious decision to do so.

And, after a long while, I laughed for no reason whatsoever.

He, on the other hand, spoke just as suddenly. "That energy on the scene..."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah..." He shook his head a little, eyes closed, imitating an expression of disbelief, or amazement, or both. "You have a very powerful voice."

I almost told him that I thought _his_ was even more powerful, as it managed to completely sober me up for a few seconds. Just his soft, tender tones were enough to capture my complete attention. But of course, I said nothing of the sort, the  little apprehension which I still had let me keep my mouth shut. "Ah, thank you," is what I said instead, smiling.

"Yeah," he echoed, then raised his eyebrows in question. His head was tilted slightly aside, his eyes narrowed. "You do write your own songs, right?"

I folded my arms at my chest, rather surprised that we were actually discussing my music instead of just... hooking up. "Um, yeah, with Simon the um, the guitarist. I mean, I write the lyrics of course, but that's not really writing a song, and well..." I trailed off, mainly because the drugs made my speech slurry and my thoughts were completely unsorted.

He didn't seem to notice. "Of course, of course, your songs sounded great, just... great. You got my attention, you see, with that raw emotion."

"Really?"

So what was going on between us was a type of small talk, which is definitely not very usual when two people highly intoxicated just want to get on with it. Normally, I hated such men and in such cases, I would already have beaten a hasty retreat and looked around for someone new. But surprisingly, I enjoyed every casual, useless word we exchanged, despite his apparent sober state that differed so much from mine. He intrigued me and there was no beginning or end of it.

"I'm glad, I'm very glad."

He laughed in response, and so did I.

Through my narcotic state, his movements seemed like overlays in film trailers. A clear fade in, then a slow vanishing… The only thing missing was a deep, dramatic voice out of nowhere that would comment on everything. This sudden thought made me smirk, and I instantly realized that it was good material for a song. _Drugs, and all the advantages they offer._ Meanwhile, he continued his own ‘trailer’, without a clue about it, of course. Then, he blinked a few times, before turning to scan the room in the darkness, taking his cell phone out which illuminated enough of the closest of our surroundings. The light fell on a big sofa and he gestured his free hand towards it. "Should we sit down?"

I just nodded in response and followed his lead to take a seat.

Silence fell over once more, and this time I was the one to break it with conversation. "So, um, what brings you to my show?" I asked, my head turned to my left to face him. I folded my hands in my lap, not knowing what to do with them. As anxiety crept into my system, slowly but steadily, I began to feel a little nervous.

"A friend of mine owns this club, and he always brings in good rock bands," he paused, pointing towards me with both his hands, smiling. I nodded a small sign of gratitude. "I like spending my weekends here every now and then, and it's pretty easy because most people don't recognize me as they, well... as most of them are pissed drunk for the bigger part of the time." By the end of the sentence he was chuckling again, a melodic sound that set off a warm feeling deep within me.

Out of all of what he had said, however, I only had one question in mind. "Why don't you want people to recognize you?"

"Oh, it gets annoying, especially this last year," he told me, very nonchalantly.

I raised my eyebrows high. I did not see the obvious his tone suggested. I could only guess. "So you're famous or something?"

"Um, or something," he chuckled, but that response meant nothing to me. After a shot pause, once the realization sunk in that I really had no clue who he was, he extended his arm in front of me. "I'm Bård Ylvisåker."

I shook it obligingly. "I'm Mary Laine," I introduced myself with a polite smile in return. And then, out of nowhere, the name rang a certain bell in my head. The feeling of familiarity when I'd seen him first... Without giving it a second thought, I exclaimed: "You're Ylvis, as in the famous Ylvis, aren't you? Are you the Fox guy?"

A small smirk took over his expression, presumably caused by my last expletive, while I felt the urge to hide my face in embarrassment. The Norwegian name fit all the puzzle pieces together in my head. It was ridiculous how I didn't even consider that the random guy in Oslo I talked to could actually be the one Norwegian I had ever heard of, and he certainly should have looked familiar after the girlfriend of a fellow band member submitted me to watching his video at least a dozen times. I then realized that the fact he addressed me in English in the first place was a logical consequence after attending a show of an English rock band. He certainly knew who I was.

"Yeah," he laughed, pulling me out of my little trance of musings. "I'm half of Ylvis, actually. There's two of us," he informed me rather casually, but that didn't mean much to me.

As every other person would, I felt awkward. "Thought you looked familiar. But I could never tell, really, your accent sounds very American. But it all fits in now." After a short break in proceedings, I added rather uselessly: "Sorry I didn't recognize you earlier."

For some reason I couldn't put my finger on I felt unavoidably stupid about it all. It was probably the drugs acting up on my feelings, however that was something I wouldn't acknowledge. 

He shrugged my words off with a wave of his hand. "Don't apologize, that's silly."

No, it wasn't just the drugs. It was his eyes and smile as well, captivating me to the fullest.

"Oh no, but it's just that I really love that song. It's awesome," I moved to sit a little closer to him. He smiled at my enthusiastic motion. "I guess I just didn't pay enough attention to the people inside the costumes."

He turned a little bit more towards me, curiosity etched on his face. "Well that's the musician's thing, isn't it?" I just raised my brows in question, not catching his point in the slightest. "You know, focus on the music, not the people who play it," he explained patiently, his eyes sparkling a little in the darkness. He seemed amused.

That was a one way to look at it. When in truth, I was probably too high to recognize him even if I had paid attention to the music video. "Yeah, that's the thing," I confirmed nonetheless. The full capacity of my patience came as a surprise, I concluded so when a nauseating feeling flooded me momentarily and all I could think of, once more, was an unavoidable wish to just get on with it. 

He, on the other hand, remained firmly focused on our conversation. "But yeah, it's a pretty ridiculous song. I'm surprised that you've even heard it at all."

I laughed whole-heartedly at his sudden self-consciousness. "Are you kidding me? I meant it when I said it's awesome."

"Oh, really?" he prompted in a mocking tone. I returned a single nod. "Really?" he echoed. "A serious rock chick like you likes a stupid song like that?"

"Of course!" I exclaimed in a small effect of heat. "It has a great point. You know, it just proves how easy it is to write a song nowadays. It has such a silly subject and yet it's so much better than most of the new music. That _is_ the whole point of the song, isn't it?"

Again he laughed. "You could interpret it like that, I suppose. We just meant it to be ridiculous, really. My brother and I are comedians, you see."

Familiarity struck me momentarily once more, and my mind worked to decode it. "Yeah, I've read that somewhere on the internet," I confirmed lightly, although it could have easily been an information implanted by the friend who had shown me his song, but all the conversation made me dizzy and I could not focus on any deeper analysis. Not very consciously, I fell back on the sofa, my head finally finding the rest it needed. When it all became too much to handle, I knew that the only thing that could help me was to keep still and wait for my head to clear up.

He probably didn't realize that I laid back because I couldn't handle sitting still. He turned towards me, again with that smile that never seemed to leave his lips. "But seriously, your music... It's left me speechless, really. I can't remember that last time music made me feel like that."

It was a statement that took time to be digested. I slightly raised my head to have a better view of him. "Like what?" I inquired in my peek of interest.

He laughed, shaking his head, his lips pursed into a thin line. "I don't know, really. That's why I wanted to talk to you. To find out, you know."

And I took that as my cue. If I was waiting for a moment to take action, this was definitely it. I slowly sat up and brought myself as close to him as I possibly could, my one hand automatically reaching his neck, making him shiver, barely noticeably, at my cold touch. Our lips were parted only by a few inches, just as easily as that. All of a sudden, his expression fell dead serious, confirming my suspicions that I was making him react exactly as I had intended. I could feel his warm breath on my lips as his mouth opened only barely, perhaps in surprise or what was more likely - desire.

"Yeah," I whispered, my eyes in search for his. But his look was fixed on my lips, so close to his, and for the first time in my life, I felt unable to move. Luckily, he recovered from our closeness more quickly than I could, and ducked forward to meet me in a kiss.

That's how it all began.


	2. All Good Things

I felt painfully aware of the air I was breathing, wet and cool, it almost felt like I could feel the particles in my trachea; of my dress's fabric as it tightened around my waist; the sofa I was sitting on and the little crackling and creaking noises it made at every tiny movement; the music that blasted through the club - I could feel the bass, the sound waves passing through my chest, I _felt_ the music; the chilly atmosphere of the room that was somehow oddly pleasant. And of all my feelings; all the drugs inside me the rushed through my blood more quickly than ever; all my thoughts, and especially the rhythm of the sound my heart made as it kept on racing. It was like all of a sudden I was completely sober, even more sober than I could ever be, and yet also very high in a special way.

And out of all of this, the only thing I was truly focused on was Bård Ylvisåker. Him, with his right hand on the small of my back and the fingers of the other as they lightly brushed my cheek. The thin, long strand of his hair that tickled my forehead as his head slowly danced along with our kiss. His sweet, hot breath mingled with mine and his soft lips, gently and slowly and only barely touched mine, making me shiver in an unusual extent of delight. We worked in perfect harmony, a concord that doesn't happen very often between two people; not in my experience at the very least.

His little game of gentleness only built up tension inside me; the expectation was tearing me. I reflexively put my right hand at the back of his head, my fingers clutching onto his smooth, silky hair, pulling him closer. He then moved the tiniest bit towards me on his own accord, and his grip on me grew stronger. The kiss began to speed itself up, and before I could process it all, his tongue was playing with mine and a soft moan escaped my lips. Boy, did he know exactly what he was doing. As his mouth twisted into a smile, one I could actually feel, I started to gently pull at his hair in response. It was my way to punish him for this - granted permissible and legitimate – manly complacency. We were at it for a while until the very little space between us became unbearable, so I pushed myself as close to him as physics would allow us, our chests smashing together. He moved forward as well, the pressure between us began to intensify. But only after a few moments, he pulled away very suddenly, with one of his hands still holding onto my cheek as his eyes dug into mine into the darkness. He just looked at me intently, breathing heavily, and I knew no words.

Certainly, I was confused. Had I done something wrong? Everything escalated rather quickly indeed, but such events ought to lead to the contrast of his abrupt actions.

My puzzled expression searched for an answer, an answer he would not give as easily as that. We were looking at one another for an indefinable amount of moments, before I very patiently leaned forward, just so my lips would merely brush his, and then found my way back away from him when he didn't mimic my motion. Somehow, my voice strings didn't fail me, and I managed to whisper a small "Hey..."  I wasn't even sure what I wanted to express with this word. A question? A make-sure that everything was alright? I was too focused on reading his face, as good the very little light around us and my condition would allow.

His eyes sparkled in the darkness. "Hey..." he echoed just as quietly.

As bewildered as I was by his sudden action, it all still felt very _right_. Because, as the music roared in the club, it was still only his arrhythmic breathing I could hear, and as the wind entered the room through the widely open window, I resisted its coolness as it was only his body's warmth I could feel. And yet, nothing was happening between us for reasons unknown. He had pulled away, and I had no clue as to why.

Just as suddenly as he had interrupted our kiss, he jumped to his feet and looked down at me from where he stood. "Do you wanna go for a walk?" was his random question, spoken in a tone of voice so casual that would never suggest his tongue was passionately down my throat only minutes previously.

I blinked once, and then once more, and managed to stammer a ''uh, sure," despite my dropped jaw.

In response, he offered a short smile that I could not accurately interpret. He lowered himself to get a hold of my hand, pulled me to my feet and the next thing I knew was him leading me through a labyrinth of doors. My head began to get fuzzier with every moment that came and the dizziness that took over was too overwhelming. At first, I blamed it on the fact that I had stood up from a resting position too abruptly. But then, a few seconds later I started to wonder whether someone had slipped some LSD into the mixture of pills I was handed earlier by my guitarist, because the colors around me were pulsating, way too bright and the objects looked funny. Vibrant shades shaped curious forms. After what felt like an infinity of walking, we managed to find our way out through one of the club's back doors. I barely made it to get some fresh air, because as I stepped into the chilly September evening, my legs gave up on me, causing my knees to meet the ground in a matter of seconds, right before I fully collapsed on the cold sidewalk.

Bård's worried voice shouting "Are you okay?" is the last thing I remember from that night.

***

I woke up wrapped in soft, warm blankets, laying on an even softer bed. The room that surrounded me was completely dark, with the honest exception of a thin line of light that spread through the slightly open door. As my mind struggled to decipher my poor memory of what had lead me to this circumstance, I slowly began to sit up, only to be met by an unbearable ache in my forehead, which quickly enough spread to the entirety of my head. I could hear my blood pulsating at my temples as I tried to rub my eyes open. The slow process of unwrapping my legs and putting them to the ground was too painful and difficult for me to achieve, so I opted for saying a "hello?" instead, in hope that reality would greet me with answers.

The sound that left my lips didn't resemble the word in the slightest, but nevertheless it was a sound, and soon enough, a manly figure appeared from the darkness, the low light illuminating his silhouette. I narrowed my eyes to make out the form, and with a single look I recognized him. It was Simon, my band's guitarist.

He made his slow steps towards me and sat himself on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling?" he didn't wait to ask in a low tone.

I tried my best to produce a reply, but my sore throat was keeping up a good fight against my idea. Instead, I managed a single nod, my head exploding a several times in return, even though that didn't answer his question at all. Involuntarily, my face twisted into a painful expression.

Despite the darkness, it was visible that he smiled, and the very sight of Simon's lips turned upwards was odd. Simon didn't smile, not very often at least. It was one of those small, sympathetic smiles and it was very nice of him to do so too, as it suggested that he was aware of the pain I was in, at least enough for him to show some empathy, whether it was genuine or not. "You gave us quite a scare last night, you know," he told me gently, tilting his head a little, pursing his lips tightly.

I exhaled in response. Once again, I tried to find my voice, and this time it was a success, as the sound I produced resembled the tonality of "did I OD?" enough for Simon to understand my question.

He shook his head no. "This guy came running into the club, asking for help. He said the singer of one of the bands had fainted outside. He was pretty freaked out, you know," he paused, as though he was carefully considering what he was about to say next. "I was on a lot of shit too, so I didn't really pay attention, so they took you to a hospital. A few hours later, someone called Martin and we went there to pick you up," (Martin was our band's drummer). Simon paused and exhaled dramatically. "You didn't OD, but it was pretty bad - I didn't really understand what happened to you. They spoke some medical shit in the hospital in a bad accent, but you know how little that means to idiots like me," he paused for a yet another dramatic effect, as though his rushed words weren't too much for me already. He proceeded with a question that caught me off guard: "What'd you mix?"

I raised my eyebrows high. "I only took the stuff you gave," I said matter-of-factly, my raspy voice barely above a whisper.

"Shit," he tutted, shaking his head and raising his hands in a helpless gesture. "Just bad luck, I guess."

My eyebrows flew up in question once again. _Was he serious? He was the one who had given me the goddamn drugs._

"I took the same stuff, I don't know what went wrong," Simon explained, his voice dull. Then, before I could fight my way through the pain and the numbness of my vocal strings, he took his cue to leave as advantageously as it gets. "I'll see ya later hun, I better let you get some rest now," was his plain excuse.

He got up and was about to leave, but then stopped and turned around as though he remembered something forgotten. He made his way back to me, picked up a glass from the nightstand and handed it to me, saying: "Drink this, it will help."

Then, he finally left, closing the door behind him. I was too stunned, too sore to even try to stop him, or at the very least, to say anything. I wasn’t a person who let things slide without a vigorous fight, but I was obliged to give up this time. Even if I had somehow managed to keep Simon in this room, my head was far too tired to provide any eligible argument.

I took a gulp from the glass; it was water. But drinking was a task that was too incredibly difficult for me in that present state, so it didn't take me long to surrender. It was an incredible discovery to become aware of the length of time one may need to carry a glass to a table with no accidents along the way, actually. However, it was a battle I won after a several tries. After some time of staring blankly into an invisible, blank spot, I carefully dropped back into a laying position and slowly drifted to sleep. My restless thoughts gave way to a dreamless night.

***

The next time I opened my eyes, the daylight was peaking through the thick curtains. I recognized my hotel room, remembering the interior only briefly from the first time I had seen it. Getting into a standing position was a much easier task this time around, with the small side-effect of dizziness which was probably due to my dehydrated state. I was taking a step by step in the slowest of motions, so it took me a while to get to the window. I slid the curtains away and took a good look of the chilly morning. My room was on the third floor, but the view of the street somewhere in Oslo was still alright. People were taking turns in walking on the sidewalks and cars rushed through at the same time. All in all, it was a typical, normal day, in a typical, normal city; but something felt different inside of me. Pretty atypical and abnormal, to say so.

It honestly took me a while to remember Bård Ylvisåker.

But oh, I could never forget.

Once the picture of his face appeared in my head though, it wouldn't disappear. The short time we had spent together the previous night (was it ten minutes? Half an hour? More than an hour? I couldn't recall, no matter how hard I tried) was running over and over in my thoughts, my brain cells successfully reviving every detail, slowly but steadily. His touch felt so real, right there in my memory, in fact it felt so real that my heart began to race in consequence. As though he were right there next to me, smiling like he had that night. 

One thing was clear above all my fuzzy thoughts right away: I had to find him.

This idea, so sudden and impulsive, seemed to give me new energy. An odd extent of energy, actually, because I felt as though I had only awoken from a year-lasting coma. So what I did next was dig through my suitcase, desperately trying to find something clean to wear. I was pulling out pieces of clothing, dismissing half of them because they were unsuitable for the weather, the other half because they were worn too many times and were indeed dirty. Eventually I settled for a gray sweater and jeans that didn't reek of cigarette smoke. I hastily put on my boots and coat and rushed down the stairs; I didn't have the nerves to wait for the elevator.

The plan, forged as quickly and impetuously as the idea that I had to meet this particular man again, was to go to the club from the night before (or was it two nights ago?). As soon as I stepped outside, though, I realized I had no clue how to get there. Quite a late realization at that, too. I couldn't remember that club's name, yet alone its location. Sighing in exasperation, I sat down on the edge of the sidewalk between two parked cars and searched my bag for a pack of cigarettes. It didn't take me long to locate my Pal Mals, and I impatiently lit a cigarette. One drag, and I felt alive once again. As the nicotine rushed through me, I concluded that it had definitely been more than twenty-four hours since the night I went unconscious. I leaned my forehead against the palm of my hand and could not help but giggle about the whole situation.

Although my mind was incredibly slow, I wasn't out of ideas.

I took my cellphone out and called Martin the drummer. He answered after a few rings, and asked me how I felt almost immediately. After we pushed through a few lines of small talk, I got straight to the point and asked him if he knew how I could get to the club where we had played. He said he didn't know where it was nor what it was called, but he had the number of the guy who had hired us. First, I rolled my eyes in annoyance, because I hated phone calls, especially with strangers. But after a few moments my face lit up. It was the perfect information he could have given me, really, because I then recalled Bård telling me that he was friends with the owner. I hung up the phone and quickly dialed the number he gave me; I'd written it down on the back of my hand with an eyeliner, the only object I could grasp in my hasty search of something to use as a pen. Sufficient to say I was a little bit nervous.

It took exactly three rings for the man to answer, saying, "Hallo?"

I cleared my throat and began my story. "Hello, uh, this is Mary Laine, the singer from Absolution," I spoke in a rather fast manner. "We played at your club the other night," I added in explanation needlessly.

"Ah yes, hello Mary. How are you?" the concern in his voice was see-through, especially through his very Norwegian accent. If anything, he sounded annoyed.

_What, did everyone know about my little bad moment?_

I tried my best not to reflect the annoyance of his tone. "I'm good, thanks, I was calling to—" I began, but he cut me off.

"To ask for another gig?" he guessed impatiently. "I'm afraid we're booked for the next month..."

I rolled my eyes pointlessly. "No, see, the thing is, um, I met your friend Bård after the gig, and I sort of lost his number," I lied, not very smoothly. "So anyway, he mentioned you were friends, and I had your number, so would you be kind enough to give me his? I've got something I wanna ask him and it would mean the world to me if you could help me out," I blabbered, not even considering the fact that the man might not speak English well enough to understand my speedy tongue. 

What followed was an obvious pause of silence.

Then, he exhaled, presumably irritated. "Listen Mary, I'm sorry, but you're not the first person who's asked me for his contact information. Ever since that Fox song..." he trailed off, pointing out the irrevocable, obvious reasoning. "I'm afraid I can't give you the number," he said, but then added, "I could, however, give yours to him."

I was evidently disappointed and my voice didn’t hide it. "Sure," I responded eventually, and gave him my number.

We said our goodbyes quickly and the line went flat.

The very fact that I doubted that Bård would contact me made me feel foolish. Because, he definitely intrigued me, but that didn't mean the feeling was mutual. I walked back to the hotel in resignation, taking each stair lazily. Once I got back into my room, I kicked off my boots and landed on my bed loudly. _Let the waiting begin_ , I thought bitterly to myself. It was exactly the reason why I avoided such phone number shenanigans with men. I hated it. I hated waiting. I hated suspense, uncertainty. 

I proceeded to stare at the phone for a while, wondering what I'd do if he didn't call. Although, the more important question was, what would happen if he did call me? Would we get together? What then? Would he even consider talking to me after I had fainted on him like that? He probably thought I was an idiot. An idiot who didn't know her right drug dosage. I imagined different scenarios, as I kept sitting there, cupping my chin with both hands, and each new one of them made me feel even more ridiculous than the previous. The moment I dropped my phone next to me on the bed, though, it ironically voiced the sound of a new text message.

I hurried to unlock the screen and held my breath while I read the three words it spelled out. Three words that sent me grinning like crazy. "Wanna meet up?"

It took me about ten seconds to respond.

"Yes."


	3. A Song

Bård and I communicated through text messages for a while until it proved to be an insufficient way to decide on a location for our meeting. The trouble we came upon was quite simple and could easily be split into two small problems, both of which I was not very proud of. The first was the fact that whichever place he would suggest, I couldn't get to because a) it couldn't be found on Google Maps or b) it was too far from my hotel. The second problem was that I quickly ran out of money on my phone, and left him without a reply to his last text message for a good part of an hour.

It took an embarrassingly long amount of time for the idea—that I could call him from the phone in my hotel room—to come to me, and once I proceeded to do so, it turned out that I could only call the reception from there. As my bad luck would have it, the receptionist's abilities to communicate through the English language were limited to "hallo, you have order?" as well as the advanced skills of adding "yes" or "no" in all the wrong places.

I was left with no choice but to go downstairs to be met by yet another staff member who couldn't understand what "is there a phone I could use?" meant. My next creative solution was to go on the street and ask a random person for a minute on their cell phone, however very ridiculous. Fortunately, just as I was making my way out of the hotel for the second time that day, my ringtone boomed from my coat's pocket and my expression dissolved into a wide grin. It was obviously Bård, calling as he ought to have done a little bit earlier before my mind had a chance to ponder over silly ideas. Sucking in a large amount of air, I dug my short nails into my palm as deep as I could and slid the 'answer' option.

"Hi."

"Mary," said his voice, calm and gentle, with a hint of relief.

"Hi," I echoed plainly, unable to come up with anything wiser.

I heard him draw a breath himself. "I've been thinking about you," he said in such a straight-forward manner that caught me off guard. Needless to say, I was at a loss of words. Fortunately, that was not the case with Bård, who was quick to ask, "How are you?"

I tried my best to gather myself up. "I'm good, I feel much better now since... you know," I felt heat rising to my face as the subject of my disgraceful fall into unconsciousness arose. A small part of me was wondering whether he knew what the cause of the situation was, and that very small part of me felt all the more embarrassed when it considered that he might know the exact reason. Which was ridiculous, of course, because I never felt ashamed of my actions that lead me to pleasure. And certainly, drugs gave me a reasonable amount of satisfaction, if anything. They were a part of my life that brought me no shame.

"Yeah, that's good to hear," he responded. I wondered if he was thinking of the same thing I was, but forced those unpleasant thoughts away. "So, could you do something if I asked you to?" he asked rather brightly.

Well that sure got me feeling on edge. I gulped before I spoke. "Like what?"

He gave a small chuckle, at the tension in my voice presumably. "Could you look for a café or something similar near your hotel?" And thus I understood what was funny.

"Yeah, sure," I said, my voice much lighter. "I'm at the lobby, actually, I'll just go outside and look."

"Okay," was his short reply, but it was almost like I could hear him smile. Memories from the small amount of time we had spent next to one another arose, however faint, but pleasant. 

Obligingly, I walked out on the sidewalk to take a good look around, albeit there wasn't anything but entrances of buildings to be seen. "Ah, I'm afraid I can’t spot nothing of the sort," I told him after a few seconds with a slight frown he could not see.

"Alright, well," he paused to consider my words. "I could always come to your hotel, then. It should have a restaurant, right?"

In truth, I had no clue, as I had only bluntly perceived my surroundings, but I gave him the affirmative answer nonetheless. It was, after all, a safe guess, and the consequences of the opposite weren't bad at all, as he could definitely spend some time in my hotel room instead, and that was definitely not bad at all. I told him the name of the hotel, and he assured me he would get there without a problem.

"I'll see you really soon, then, I suppose," he concluded.

I smiled to myself. "Yeah, see you soon," I confirmed gently.

"Bye," and with that he hung up. 

And soon it was indeed. Just when I finished my tour through the first floor of the hotel in the search of a restaurant, I walked back into the lobby just in time to see him enter as well. I was very surprised, to say the least. I had expected him to come at least an hour later, which would have given me enough time to change clothes or at the very least, brush my hair. I hadn't bothered to take a look at a mirror ever since I'd woken up. He spotted me only a few seconds later, the full mess I was, and once our eyes locked, we both smiled as though by default. And in that perfect synchronization, we went on to close the distance between us and meet half-way. Once he stood right in front of me, I noted that he was taller than I remembered. His hair seemed to be a shade lighter and his eyes more piercing. I was instantly reminded of the special connection I felt between us since the moment I first saw him. Definitely, I felt some strange force drawing me to him right then and there, exactly like I had that night in the club.

Surely, what happened next dropped me back to reality, as it was bound to. By some sort of impulse, I felt the need to hug him in greeting, while he, on the other hand, opted for a simple handshake. That awkward struggle resulted in me shaking his right with my left hand in a very uncomfortable twist. We both tried our best to laugh it off, and I mumbled a "Hey, how are you?" along the way, in means to lighten the situation.

"I'm alright," he replied through slightly forced chuckles, his fingers pushing a strand of hair behind his ear.

Yeah, it was reality and it felt very... real. I no longer felt drawn or connected to him as I had the night before anymore, at least no more than I would when it came to any attractive man. And boy, was he attractive. That part was so obvious that it didn't even make me wonder why he caught my eye in the first place. But a special connection...  _goodness, what was I thinking?_ My mind only rarely found its way to such unwinding places. The illusions it submitted me to were getting to an extent I could not afford to keep up with.

"Well, um," I started, desperately forcing my mind to think of something to say. As it always is in such situations, I began to state the obvious. "You were serious when you said very soon, weren't you now?" I teased.

His lips formed a grin. "Yeah, what can I say, I stand behind my words."

"I can see," I also smiled politely. All the standing started to become awkward and for a while, I had nothing to do but shift my weight from one foot to another, rather uncomfortably. Eventually, I cleared my throat. "The restaurant's that way," I said, pointing out the direction on my right. "Shall we?"

He agreed through a yet another smile and a nod.

And through another rather unnatural struggle to come to the decision of who'd lead the way, I stepped forward and he tagged along to my right side. I began to feel uneasy and to some extent nervous, even, questioning the wisdom of this entire idea of a meeting. _What the hell were we doing anyway?_

We moved forward in silence, taking each step in unison. "I wanted to visit you in the hospital," Bård said out of nowhere. "But they said you were unconscious," he continued with a small frown, "so it would have been pointless, I suppose. Plus..." he began, but then he stopped rather abruptly, as though forbidding some words to come out and that instantly peeked my curiosity.

"What?" I prompted.

He sighed, flexing his eyebrows. "Plus we barely know each other. Not even barely, really. It wasn't my place to come. But, I still wanted to."

Definitely, I did not expect to hear anything of the sort. I couldn't help but smile. "I appreciate the thought," I said before laughing shakily, and then to brighten the mood, I added: "I wouldn't have known you were there anyway."

My reassurance only made him frown once more. "What happened to you?"

I should had known that the direct question was eventually going to come. My suspicions were correct; he might have not known about my near overdose, but he had definitely been wondering about what had actually happened. "They didn't tell you?" I had to make sure before I proceeded with whatever story I could come up with.

He shrugged. "No one told me anything. The ambulance came and just took you to the hospital." By then we had reached restaurant's entrance and Bård, like a true gentleman, opened the door for me. I nodded my thanks in return as I walked in. Then, I lied. "I had a few shots of tequila, completely forgetting about the bunch of benzos I'd taken earlier," I told him with a shrug, providing another smile in hopes to lighten the situation and get away from the subject before it could be taken any further.

He just glanced at me blankly. "Silly me," I added, laughing an odd laugh.

"Benzos?" he inquired, perplexed.

"Benzodiazepines?" I tried to provide a better explanation, but he didn't seem to understand nonetheless. "Do you know the pills that contain diazepam?"

He blinked a few times, taking in my response. "Yeah..."

"I was prescribed those a few days ago, apparently they're supposed to help me with the  _touring anxiety_ ," I over-emphasized those last words; which weren't far from the truth, actually. I indeed was prescribed the pills, only to supposedly help my alcohol withdrawal, but I knew better drugs that helped with that. Besides, I wasn't going through any alcohol withdrawals anyway, so I never had to actually take them. By this point, we had reached a table, taking seats opposite from one another.

"Oh," he exclaimed in realization. "Does touring make you very anxious, then?" His face formed a worried expression. He committed his full attention to me.

I was flattered by the concern, but the conversation was becoming a drag. _Certainly, it couldn’t be what he wanted to talk about either, right?_ I faked a smile. "Yeah, or so said my doctor when I went for a check-up," I tried to laugh it off. However, his concern seemed to only grow. I had to shake it off before he asked any more questions, otherwise I had a feeling we’d discuss antidepressants and busy work schedules in the following hour. So, I thought of an escape route.

"Hey, would you mind if I went to the ladies room?" I asked rather innocently before he had a chance to add anything at all.

He seemed to be caught off guard by the sudden interruption of our conversation. Nevertheless, he was a quick one to recover. "No, no, not at all," he spoke hastily.

"It's just that I didn't expect you to come as soon as you said," I explained while I was standing up. The waiter approached us at the very moment. "Order something for me," I said, winking along the way. "I'll be right back."

Without even waiting for him to respond, I rushed towards the restroom. I didn't know where exactly it was, but luckily it didn't take me long to find it. The hotel did seem to have a logical order, after all. Once I stepped inside, the restroom appeared deserted, but I checked all the cabins to make sure no one was there. When I was assured I was alone, I locked the door. Privacy was of the utmost essence. Without waiting for a moment, I took out my wallet and committed myself to my plan. I selected two 10£ bills, out of which one I spread on the sink's counter, the other I rolled. Then, I emptied the small bag that contained the little cocaine I had left on the bill number one, carefully spread it in three parallel lines and sniffed them in a haste, one by one, without taking a break. With each new dose, the drug was welcomed into my body. After twenty seconds, give or take, I knew that it was exactly what I needed.

As my energy rose up, I started to feel alive again. I pushed the pound bills deep inside my jeans' pocket and put my wallet back inside my bag. Once I finally noticed myself in the mirror, though, I looked quite the opposite from how I felt. My hair was a real mess and I had black circles around my eyes. To put it in fewer words, I looked unmistakably exhausted. Whoever would take notice of me had a right to be concerned - I looked like a complete wreck, actually.

Turning the water on, I splashed my face twice and then dried it with paper towels. Slipping my fingers through my long, blonde hair, I attempted my best to untangle the messiest parts. As I carried no make-up in my bag, except for an eyeliner I had no nerve to apply, it was the best I could do to look presentable. But I didn't, really. My appearance was far from that, actually. I inwardly cursed Bård for arriving as soon as he had. Albeit I was inwardly thankful that he hadn't left me any room to ponder in anticipation for his arrival. Exhaling loudly, I took one last look at the mirror and hurried to walk my way back to the restaurant. There was not much else I could do.

What awaited me was quite a sight: Bård was hugging a young boy while a man took their picture. He didn't notice me appear until I sat back down on my chair across him. He smiled politely as the man said his thanks and took his cue to leave with the boy.

For a short while, we locked our gaze. "I forgot I was sitting with a famous person for a moment," I teased.

He glared at me jokingly. "Oh, please don't ask for an autograph."

I giggled. "Would you mind terribly if I did?"

"Well," he said, leaning forward on the table, shortening the gap between us and causing some certain twirls and twists in my abdomen I pointedly ignored. "We could make a deal," his every syllable flirted.

I mirrored his actions. It was a small table, so our faces were quite close. "I'd do anything," I provoked.

His lips formed a crooked smile. "Oh well, let’s see.” He pretended to seriously weigh down some options, tapping a finger to his chin rather playfully, darting his eyes across the room as though in search for inspiration. "I'll give you mine if you give me yours," he declared eventually, winking lightly.

That broke it for me. I let out a laud laugh and moved slightly away from him. "I'm not famous!" I exclaimed, clapping my hands before myself.

He started at me for a while, blinking only twice, pure disbelief etched on every inch of his expression. "Maybe you didn't write a song about a fox, but from what I gather, your band's got a reasonable number of fans."

"Reasonable?"

Our drinks arrived just then, with but it was not an interruption of any sort. The waiter was quick and slid away after a small nod of thanks received from the both of us.

"Well," he said, sighing before carrying on to explain. "The themes in your songs certainly eliminate the younger audience," which was a good point, as our songs had indeed a lot to do with, well, Sex, Drugs and Rock'n'roll, really. "Then, you're actually making good music, and when I say good I mean really good quality rock," he emphasized the unavoidable compliment. I peeked at him gratefully. "And we all know this is the era of bad music, otherwise a song about a fox wouldn’t have definitively made it as big."

It was amazing how he could compliment me while analyzing reality. I was impressed, however I had my own share of disagreement. "I think we've already established that 'The Fox' is a good song," I retorted.

He rolled his eyes. "I'm glad you like it, yeah."

"I do."

"Good."

I eyed our untouched drinks. Bård had ordered some kind of cocktails, the same for us both. A small part of me was happy that he thought we'd like the same thing, for no good reason whatsoever. "Shall we toast?" I suggested brightly.

He picked his glass up in clear agreement. "To?"

"To the Fox," I said with a wink. Bård laughed. Our glasses clanged in unison and we both took a sip without braking eye-contact. I could feel him trying to dig something out with that intense look, and I wondered what thoughts went through his head.

We sat in silence shortly, and I took it in advantage to sip on my cocktail without breaking the conversation. It was he who broke it with the random question of: "Would you sing me a song if I asked you to?"

I grinned, uncertain of his seriousness. " _If_  you asked me to?" I emphasized. 

"I'm asking you to, yeah," he clarified, his expression ever-so-provocative.

I looked away, shaking my head in disbelief. "Here?" I prompted, eyeing our surroundings in astonishment.

He was amused by my reaction. "Sure, why not?"

My eyebrows flew up high and eyes widened. "Why not?" I repeated, rather sarcastically. "I'm not gonna bother myself answering that."

He understood me well. "Let’s go somewhere you could sing, then," he suggested enthusiastically instead.

I couldn't believe he was serious, but his facial expression gave out no signs that he was anything but. After a small amount of thoughtfulness, I had an idea. "Alright, but I have one condition."

He smiled in satisfaction. "Which is?" asked his flirtatious tone. 

I took out the two 10£ bills from the pocket I had put them in earlier and, straightening them a little first, I placed them on the table. "I have to play my guitar along, of course." Without giving him a chance to respond, I rose to my feet. "Come along, then," I said, already walking away. Even though it took him a few moments to actually do so, he followed me obligingly. I lead the way to my room in silence. After all, I did feel very energetic, and good energy should never go to waste. 


	4. Intentions

The second Bård Ylvisåker stepped into my room, I considered kissing him and getting on with it just then and there. The fact that I hadn't showered since the last time we had kissed and nearly OD'ed in meanwhile made me reconsider. Smiling at my silly thoughts, I closed the door behind us and told him to take a seat wherever he'd like to, which was kind of tricky as my room only consisted of a huge bed, a closet, two nightstands and tiny space between those objects. And, of course, there was a door that was somehow squeezed into the whole complex of the room that lead to the toilet, and it opened only a few inches more than halfway as my suitcase interfered with the whole process.

For a moment, I felt ridiculous because I was trying to get this man to sleep with me by taking him to a hotel room which was probably the size of his bathroom. I must have laughed at the thought, because Bård asked me what was funny while he was taking his seat on the bed, being the polite gentleman he was. I did catch him throw a look of discomfort, however.

"Nothing," I mumbled, snickering to myself.

Whether his curiosity remained after that word was unknown to me, however he did choose not to push the useless subject further, something I quite appreciated; I always detested people who _needed_ to know every single pointless detail, and was glad to find that he did not belong in such a group.

My guitar rested on the wall carefully packed in its case as I seldom played it while touring. I always brought it along, of course, but I mainly played it in the bus when the long hours of nothingness would bore me. Sudden bursts of musical inspiration required an instrument most of the time just as well. As I was unpacking it rather intently focused on my action, I glanced up at Bård who had sat himself rather awkwardly. His almost still position amused me, but I bit my lip in order to suppress another laugh.

My mouth spread into a grin instead. "Relax," I told him as I lifted the guitar and moved on to sit next to him. "Make yourself at home."

He took my advice and tried to oblige, but it was obvious that he did not yet feel comfortable. I couldn't blame him; the situation itself was odd and the silence was piercing. However, not a single moment felt awkward and I was in plain awe at that very fact. Bård watched me patiently as I tuned my guitar, string by string, as though I had committed myself to a worldly significant task. I could feel his eyes plastered on me, and that only made me wonder what he was thinking about while he explored my every move in detail. Every now and then, I would look up at him to smile a little, and he'd do the same. It took some time, because my concentration was poor with those blue eyes glued to me, but I eventually got the guitar in tune.

I clapped my hands in success. "Okay, now the guitar is officially playable," I announced and he grinned in response. "What would you like me to play, then?"

He seemed to really consider the question for a moment, in his little teasing way. "One of your songs, of course," he answered, as it was the most obvious thing on the planet. 

"Well," I said dramatically, "I won't play you one of mine, of course, but I guess my band's songs should do the job."

His eyes flew up in surprise. "You write separate music from the band?" he wondered.

I nodded enthusiastically, smacking my lips in self-satisfaction. "Of course, like every other musician in the world," I laughed. "I just don't feel like sharing them, most of the time. Don't want to disappoint a fan with my not so rock'n'roll tunes," I winked.

He didn't say anything, just waited for me to begin a song. I found it oddly refreshing not to be forced to play something I rather wouldn't.

I weighed down my options. To play one of the slower, calmer songs I'd written in the frames of _Absolution_ seemed like a reasonable choice. And so I went through a song in the G-minor scale, plucking at the strings in a simple rhythm, singing out the words I had once come up with after a messy break up. The song itself had little to do with the break up actually, as it easily fit into the clichéd songs about hurt, while in reality I was exceptionally glad—relieved, even—to have quit the relationship. Nevertheless, it was all good as far as inspiration goes. True to my profession, I was one to grasp onto every detail around me that could provide an interesting theme, and eventually be turned into writing material.

Bård listened intently and, without a doubt, sat in silence all the way through. His gaze made me nervous, because without the loud band behind me and the noises from the crowd, I felt naked; exposed. My voice echoed inside the four walls of the room and it was the only thing that could be heard, besides the guitar, and I suddenly became self-conscious. I could feel my cheeks heat up. To calm my nerves down, I closed my eyes and instead focused on the emotion I sang, consciously deciding to cut a verse short. Once the song ended, the feeling of silliness overfilled me for a yet another time that same day, mainly because I lacked words that could fill the silence.

Bård, however, had no such trouble. "That was beautiful," he said simply, a small glint in his eye contrasting the seriousness of his expression.

But such a compliment was due. And so, I might not have known how to put my response into words, but I was certain of what I wanted to do. I put the guitar aside wordlessly, leaving it plastered on the wall, and didn't wait a moment to kiss him. I took him by surprise, and for a while he couldn't get on track to kiss me back. But he did, of course. As our lips moved in unison, his hands found their way to my waist, pulling me even closer to him, setting off butterflies in a race inside my abdomen. I slowly sat up with my knees on the bed which made me a head taller, my fingers determinedly clutching on his long strands of hair. My arms were locked tightly around his neck, and I only moved them in order to get him out of his dark brown leather jacket. In my process of doing so, our lips parted and his traveled down my neck, warm breath and eager kisses sending goosebumps all over my body. After I succeeded to remove a layer of his clothing, I went on to kiss his neck in return, as it was now very visible and provocative. I heard him let out a shaky breath. Exhaling heavily, he then spoke huskily, saying: "I have an idea," he paused to catch a breath, "that we should do."

I smiled into his neck and moved away to meet his gaze. I cupped his cheeks before asking a flirtatious, "Oh, really?"

His hands retained their hard grip on my waist, his expression lighting up into unmistakable enthusiasm. "Yeah," he said lightly, sneaking in a quick kiss. "We should make a song together."

That did definitely not sound like a sex game to me. Astounded, I pulled away. "What?" I couldn't entirely comprehend what I was hearing.

He grinned widely, making me feel as though I was missing to see a great, brilliant idea. "A song, you know. For my talkshow," he explained, but I just kept on staring at him, doubting he was serious. I remained wordless. "What, don't you think it's a good idea?" he prompted. His face fell serious, for once, and I tried to think of an explanation for where did all of this come from. _Was that all this was about? All of this we just did, so he could fit me into his job for some profit?_

I had no clue how to react. Things were headed in a certain direction in a hasty manner and all of a sudden, the aim felt not as clear. All I had wanted to do was to hook up with the guy. What he wanted, on the other hand, was... I couldn't even understand, really. "You're actually serious, aren't you?" I finally said gingerly, dragging myself away to stand on my feet.

He was quick to take a hold of my both my hands before I could walk any further away, not that there was much room to do so anyway. "Just picture it," he pushed, enthusiasm traceable all over his voice. "This great rock chick singing a really awesome song, and me being ridiculous trying to win her over while completely screwing it up, or something like that. It would be _so_ funny. Wouldn't it?"

For a moment, I considered his offer. It was a good idea, really, but not for a song. It was something that I wanted to happen between us, not to make a show out of it. It was what I _thought_ was happening, actually. I was the rock chick, and I wanted from him to try to win me over. For real. At the moment, another realization sunk in, and I stopped to ask myself: Why?

I titled my head sideways. "Bård," I began, trying not to grimace. "It's a good idea, but I just think you found the wrong  _rock chick_."

He squeezed my hands gently. "No, you're perfect for it, really!" he reassured me. 

His blue eyes were so piercing that I had to look away. "I don't do talkshows, I'm sorry."

He blinked a few times, as though he hadn't considered that at all. "Well, it doesn't have to be for the talkshow, then. I'm sure it could be a hit anyway," he suggested, his eyes never leaving me. And then he managed to see my true expression at last as he was bound to. "But you don't want to do it." It wasn't a question. It was a disappointing realization. 

And then another conclusion of my own overwhelmed me. "Is that why you came over here? So you could talk to me about a song?" I accused a little cynically. 

The tone in my voice must have caught him off guard, because he looked very confused for a couple of seconds. "Well, yeah," he said carefully, as though I was supposed to already know that. "I mean, the idea about the song came to me when I saw you perform on that stage in the club. That's why I came to talk to you in the first place. That, and-"

" _I_  came to talk to  _you_ ," I interrupted to remind him, ignoring my rage in means to suppress it.

His grip on my hands loosened up, and I took the opportunity to shake them off. "Yeah, you did," he acknowledged, and I took a small step away from him. "But I wanted to find you when your show ended right away. By some lucky coincidence, you found me first. You came to talk to the guitarist who was next to me, right?"

Suddenly, it all made sense. The special connection I believed to exist between us was just an illusion. And to put it into his words, it was just a coincidence that we found each other that night. He had a completely different picture of the events that took place, one I had been unable to consider for a while. But his words brought sudden clarity and I couldn’t believe my own naivety. Of course there had to be a more rational explanation than a stupid connection. "Yes," I lied, too stunned for a better answer. I needed a drink. 

"And then I took you to a quieter place so could talk," he continued his story, but I had only one question that pondered my mind. I didn’t hesitate to voice it.

"Why'd you kiss me then?"

He appeared perplexed as he heard my words. "I-I, um, I don't know" he stuttered, but was quick with his retort of: "Why did  _you_  kiss me?"

Because I wanted to hook up with him. Because I thought we were on the same page. "I don't know," I echoed sarcastically, rolling my eyes, glancing up at the ceiling. My arms folded at my chest on their own accord. 

He was sizing me up in disbelief. "I guess it was just because I'm attracted to you," came his real reply, one that turned my gaze back to him. He stood up and tried to reach for me, but I took another step backwards, bringing my arms forward to push him away or to at least create some form of a barrier between us. 

I scoffed. "Are you attracted to all the things that would make a good show?" I demanded to know, my voice raising only slightly. I _really_ needed a drink. "Did you kiss a fox to get a big hit?"

He laughed, presumably doubting I was serious. He blinked rather briskly. "Ah, come on, Mary," he walked so close to me that I was stuck between him and the wall behind me. He took hold of both my hands once again, and no matter how much I tried to fight him off, he was stronger than me. His face was so close to mine that I could feel his warm breath. "I know you can feel it too," he said softly.

His closeness slowed my thoughts down abruptly and I detested the effect he had on me. An effect I could in no way explain nor reason its origin. Goodness, I had only just met the guy and my brain was already running down paths of fairy tales. Indeed, I needed a drink - desperately. "Feel what?" I managed to spit angrily, although the anger itself began to fade with our blatant proximity. Instead, my body began to give in, my pondering mind gave way to relaxation, betraying my stubbornness to the fullest. 

He cupped my face with both his hands, causing my heart to beat faster, both from anger and desire. I inwardly cursed my weakness.

"This," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "This connection between us." With that, he closed the little space between us, capturing my lips with his in a slow, gentle kiss, leaving me breathless momentarily. I responded almost immediately, returning his soft kisses in a more passionate manner. His hands moved to my waist, gluing my body to his, and then found their way to the small of my back and I felt the urge to gasp. His lips, in coordination, began to move across my face, leaving soft little whispers of kisses on my cheek, my jaw, my neck, but stopped short of my lips. I played along, edging up to the corner of his mouth, wanting him to really kiss me, but respecting the boundary he had set.

Once his fingers found their way under my sweater and came in contact with my bare skin, I stopped all movement and sighed. He paused too, only to press his lips against mine hungrily once more, hunger I could in no way resist. I felt a rush of heat all over my body, and so began to hasten the kiss, which was becoming more and more demanding by the second.

Bård was breathing fast, kissing me harder and touching me wherever his hands would take him. His touch lit fires, and touching him fanned the flames. It was as though we had completely forgotten about specific body parts, and moved back in to a world where no part of his body or mine wasn't an erogenous zone. It drove me crazy. It wasn't a localized fire I usually felt in such a situation—I was lost in the total feel of him, the warmth and hardness of his body against mine. I wanted to feel every inch of him touching me. All other thoughts that might have been in my mind were completely erased. All of them were replaced by the need for him at the moment.

His hands moved to my thighs, spreading my legs quite smoothly in order to lift me up. I responded by wrapping them around his hips, and steadying his grip, he slowly but certainly took me to the bed, laying both of us down in a slick manner. His gentleness was replaced by an eager desire, and as he pushed me onto the bed, I lifted up slightly in the meanwhile so he could ease me out of my jacket. Not wasting a second, I slid my hands between us in order to unzip his pants, but then stopped myself abruptly. The sudden momentary movement made my head go dizzy very shortly, but it was enough to bring me back to reality. One thing was crystal clear to me in that very moment, I did not know how and I did not know why. All I knew was that I couldn't—didn't want to—do it. 

I felt cheated. Not by him, because he hadn't done anything wrong, but by my feelings. His words, that he wanted me for a song, came back to me, and my brain dramatized to a conclusion that he was only trying to trick me into doing it. There was no connection between us, but rather my silly belief that such a thing between two people could exist acting up. And as much as I wanted to sleep with him, I couldn't do it. After a certain event in my life, sex had become quite meaningless to me, in the sense of it only being a type of pleasure I would turn to every now and then, without bonding to the person who'd provide it. But these feelings of enjoying  _him_  and not the act itself broke down the barrier of a one night stand, and suddenly I felt protective and cautious against the sincerity of his actions. I didn't want him to want me for a show, I wanted him to simply want  _me_. But I didn't know what he wanted. 

I was lost in thought for a good while, and nearly froze below him. He, on the other hand, didn't stop, just slowed down his pace and brushed his lips softly on my neck in a buzzing manner. I pushed him away gently, but because he holding onto my waist, I automatically was pulled to end up on top of him. Our eyes met and just stared at one another. His breathing was heavy, and so was mine, mingling in the tense air between us. One of his hands found its way between us, his fingers brushing away a few small strands of my hair. Very slowly, he tilted his head up, met me in a small, soothing kiss and went back to his previous position.

Confusion etched his brow as he explored my abrupt reaction.

I could still feel both of our hearts pound and felt obliged to explain myself, but I had no clue what to say. "Let's slow down, okay?" I whispered needlessly, because that was exactly what we were doing anyway.

Although he appeared confused, he managed to smile. "Okay," he agreed, but sneaked in another peck. "Is everything okay?"

Was it? I nodded my reply, but didn't feel very okay, in truth. I was confused by my actions, because if there was one thing I had ever truly valued in myself, it was the fact that I always knew what I wanted. And this particular moment, I wasn't certain of anything. First and foremost, I wanted him, there was no denying that. But wanting him lit a certain fire within me, a fire that hadn't been lit in a long time, if ever. What confused me, was that I had no clue why it was so and it was frustrating to say the least. Explaining it all with some sort of special connection sent me into despair, and I felt more anxious by the moment, but I couldn't very well reveal my silly thoughts to him right then and there.

In reality, it was mainly the after effects of the cocaine that slowed me down, bringing out all the turmoil in me, but that was not something I would have dared to admit to myself, not even in court. 

Looking up at Bård, he didn't seem convinced by my reply either. "Did I do something wrong?" he inquired in a voice that was anything but indifferent.

We were still in the same position, me laying on top of him. I shook my head no. "I just..." I paused, looking for words to phrase my explanation. Words that would not expose my turbulent mind, words that would avoid offending him. "I don't feel like doing this right now," I settled after some thought, cringing inwardly at how stupid it actually sounded.  
  
He looked a little puzzled, so I hurried to add a soft "I'm sorry" before moving away to lay next to him. I dug my face into my palms as though it would somehow shield me from this situation, take me to a world where everything felt oh-so-simple and easy. A world that knew of no doubts. A world that didn't confuse so damn much. This was supposed to be a simple situation, wasn't it?

I felt his fingers pulling my hands away, his eyes peeking behind the fence I had set. "Don't apologize," he smiled warmly. "It's alright, really. I... I have no idea how we got to where we were going."

Hadn't he really? I doubted him, but could see no real reason why he wouldn't tell the truth. _Was it just my mind that misinterpreted things to a dramatic effect?_  

I couldn't help but return his smile. The look he gave me was so soothing, it eased my nerves and made me realize that no matter what his intentions might have been, I just needed a good rest. I needed time to sort my thoughts and understand my own doings. These past few days had done me well.

"What's your favorite song?" I asked the first thing that came to my mind, sitting up, my back resting on the wall. It was indeed a lame question, but somehow it felt right for the moment. I felt like I simply had to say something.

He mimicked my position, but folded one of his legs and wrapped his hands around it. He considered my question. "I don't really have a favorite song," he answered after a small amount of thoughtfulness. I was glad he took my change of subject as easily. 

I smiled in delight. "Me neither."

He grinned, and a glint in his eye won my attention as out gaze met. "Look at that, we have something in common," he noted casually. Then, all too seriously, he added: "And we are both musicians, of course, so there's that as well."

The glare I sent him was teasing. "Of course, there's that too," I played along, with a hint of light sarcasm in my voice.

He noticed it all too well. "Hey," he defended, "it's true. I'm more famous than you are!"

I giggled, punching his upper arm playfully. "How fortunate for you."

He winked in response. Suddenly, he got up from the bed and walked to where I had placed my guitar previously. He got a hold of it and returned to his sitting position. I looked up in question, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he started plucking at the G chord, but then moved on to a simple, yet very beautiful melody I couldn't recognize. His fingers were a little clumsy, but somehow he managed to impress me more than I thought was possible, probably because I had no idea he could actually play an instrument at all. The musician in him very well proved his point.

I just listened with glistening eyes in silence while he repeated the same string of notes, over and over. It was hypnotizing. Before too long, he moved on to another melody, a little more upbeat than the previous. That one, I recognized far too well. It was "Here Comes The Sun" by the Beatles. And even though what he played was a very simple version of the song, I still enjoyed it immensely - it was one of my favorites, and he played it out of nowhere like that, hinting my previous inner debates over the existence of a special connection. I felt my lips curl up into a smile on their own.

He noticed my reaction, and satisfied, he stopped playing. Silently, he handed me the guitar over and without a word I proceeded to play the exact same song.

I saw him roll his eyes melodramatically within moments. "You don't have to show off. We both know you can play it better," he concluded jokingly.

I stopped in mid chord to laugh. "Oh, well. I am impressed anyway," I informed him honestly.

He shook his head, but didn't respond vocally. Neither did I. Instead, I simply carried on with another song, and he listened intently and patiently. In fact, for the next fifteen minutes or so, that was all that happened. I played the guitar and his gave me all his attention. Was there anything more I could ask for? The feeling of completeness overfilled me and at that point, the one question the flooded me was whether this feeling was simply caused by him, and if so, would it last? And so my inner peace was broken and answered my mute question. That prompted a chain of thoughts I inwardly fought to suppress. My efforts to hide my uneasiness were in many ways successful, and even then my ironic mind reminded me that he didn't remark my distress because he didn't know me at all.

Eventually we started to mix conversation into the music, and began to talk about simple, random things. Thus started our journey of getting to know one another. He told me about his talkshow; explained what working with his brother was like; of how long they had been colleagues; indulged the random twist of events that lead to their big hit and made the world know about them. He inquired whether I’d heard of their other songs that were up online, but I had to disappoint him with a negative answer. I promised to check them out, however. Then we talked about my tour. I told him that before Norway, we had played in France and Netherlands, and that the following day we were leaving for Sweden for a day only to continue our stay of a few days in Germany.

And all so sweetly he sent my stomach into twirls as we admitted he was sad I had to leave so soon. The clock ticked the time away, though, and he had to leave for work. We were bound to say goodbye eventually, anyway. As the moment of doing so neared, though, I frowned that we had not done much with our time together at all. I had no image of what we could have done instead, for sure, but something was lacking. Something that couldn’t be figured out and simply ought to be left behind.

And so I had to let him go. 

"Maybe I'll see you again one day," he concluded bluntly as he stood outside the door I held open for him.

All I could do was smile. "Yeah, maybe."

Neither of us was doing a good job at letting go.

He held out his hand forward quite slowly, and I took it. It wasn't exactly a handshake what we shared, because we just held on to each other for a while. The feel of his fingers on mine sent shivers down my spine, which I pointedly ignored. Then, with one final smile, so sweet and soothing, he let go and I watched him walk away. As I closed the door, I felt convinced with a belief that he had just walked out of my life forever. But boy, was I wrong. 


	5. Stars

The rest of the tour passed in a haze for me. Although I didn't surpass my record for partying, it was a few very fun days indeed. After all, the best parties are those one cannot remember, and I for sure cannot recall much of what happened after we left Norway. It all began with an innocent joint as we rode our bus to the hotel in Stockholm. And then a drinking game in the lobby while we waited for our keys. And then... well, I'm quite certain that cocaine was my best friend for a while. Or something of the sort; I could never be sure.  
  
The best part was the big stage in Hamburg, as well as the audience. Undoubtedly, it was the biggest show we had ever played. As I sang through the same lines for what felt like the millionth time, to say I was surprised by the response we were getting is an understatement. Almost everyone sang along, clapping their hands in rhythm, drinking whatever they were drinking, sufficiently having a good time without a question. We'd never had such fans, not even back home in England.

It was Simon and I who came up with the whole concept of forming a band a year previously, and from the very start we had a small following, mainly due to the fact that Simon used play in  _The Joses,_  a pretty famous local band, before he got too sick of it and started looking for something new. _I_ , he said, was something new. Lining up a group and finding the right members ran smoothly, and before too long, we began our writing process. Once we released our first record, we got gigs all across the UK, which was indeed quite big for a small band like ours, but that didn't stop us from aiming for bigger success. We gathered good crowds and advertised our music. We were good enough for people to spread the word whenever we played. And so we released the second record a month prior our current tour, and people all the way in Germany knew the new songs already. "It's fucking amazing," to quote Martin.   
  
It is safe to say that neither my focus, nor my special fascination, had anything to do with the amount of people who could sing along the lyrics I had written. In between the music, the parties and the tons of people, whenever I'd stop to pay attention to my thoughts, Bård Ylvisåker would come to my mind out of nowhere. I'd imagine his face; it was incredible how many irrelevant details I remembered of his expression, things like the way he'd blink far too often when he was sincerely paying attention, or the way he'd flick his gaze sideways when he joked. The sound of his voice rang over and over in my head, as though it was a melody of its own. But it was just a sound, really. A sound my mind would connect to various snippets of our conversations, coming to me at the most random of times.

To put it in less words: I was obsessed with a guy, so far away from me, whom I only knew for a countable amount of hours. If nothing else, it was childishly ridiculous.   
  
The teenager in me was being reborn, but then suppressed by reality and life itself. I felt like my whole world had become a roller-coaster, consisting my dramatic perception mixed with bits of desperation and a good amount of various drugs. If it weren't for all the substances which altered my mood and emotions daily, I would have definitely been a complete wreck. Because, for reasons I couldn't clarify to myself, I began to feel more lonely than ever. On the plane ride back to London, I started to seriously wonder why I was single, and basically friendless. It wasn't that I didn't enjoy the rock'n'roll lifestyle—it was what I had dreamed of for a long time, and finally achieved, after all!—but, my brief encounter with Bård reminded me of how much I yearned for a person to share my life with, and of how successfully I had abolished from myself the fact that I longed for a partner, a lover, or a friend who'd simply be there for me, and there with me through all that was to come. Why _him_ and why now remained the unsolved mystery in the back of my head.  
  
For a long time I hid from people in order to shield myself from the cynic world. Not literally, of course, because I remained communicative and open-minded even when I had no interested in bonding with another person. But I had grown up from the naive, bighearted girl I used to be. I was no longer to be fooled—or so I liked to believe—and I no longer allowed myself to depend on things that were far out of my reach. Relationships fell into that category. That resulted in me being alone most of the time, however not lonely in the slightest. I loved spending time by myself, knowing that I could leap back into society in a heartbeat, to be surrounded by people whenever I'd wish to be. But it had been such a long time—nearly three years, to be exact—since I actually wished to be next to someone, someone specific. And now, Bård Ylvisåker had become that someone with no type of warning whatsoever. He just came into my life and left traces all over my clouded head.   
  
But also real traces, as in a printed reminder of his short presence in my life. It was a sort of funny story, actually.  
  
Once I arrived in London, I had to catch a train back home to Brighton in less than two hours. Luckily, I made it just on time (usually I didn't). I was travelling with James— _Absolution_ 's bassist—and his girlfriend Tess who had welcomed us at the airport, so that might have been the reason why I didn't get stuck in some after-tour-party with Simon. James fell asleep the minute he settled in his seat, and very fortunately for me, Tess fixed her attention on the small stack of magazines the train had to offer. I wasn't in the mood for conversation, especially not small talk, and Tess knew better than to bother me as she knew how goddamn tired I was.  
  
That's why I was very much startled when I heard her speak to me just as I began to drift off to sleep myself. "Mary," she said in a hushed voice, presumably trying not to wake her boyfriend up.   
  
I pretended to be asleep in means to ignore her; I was so, so tired.   
  
Then, I heard her snap one of the magazines closed.  
  
She nudged at my arm. "Hey, Mary!" she tried again, her words in a higher volume this time around.  
  
I drew my hands to my eyes and rubbed them open in a very, very slow motion. _Whatever she wants, it better be quick_ , I thought, irritated. After a ludicrously long period of time, I replied with a raspy "What's up, Tess?"  
  
She didn't look annoyed at my behavior in the slightest. Oddly enough, her expression spelled excitement, bordering with a bewildered gaze. She opened her mouth, then closed it, and then opened it again, as if she were unable to pronounce whatever it was she wanted to say. Instead, she handed me the magazine she held in her hands. "Page fourteen," she instructed pointedly.   
  
I cocked one eyebrow up, shooting her an annoyed glance as my fingers flicked through the object she had handed me nonchalantly. She ignored me by all means, and sighing, I turned to do as told. It was a low budget magazine so my wild guess was that our band had gotten a page or two in it. That was no exciting event, for sure, as we often got a few bits and pieces in the media in the past few months, or at the very least to a level that got me no longer in awe of our small success. Lazily, I opened it in the middle, and then searched back for the page she'd named, not expecting much. My jaw dropped open when I saw its contents as consequence.   
  
The left corner displayed a picture with of me. With Bård. It was a quick snap shot—obvious from the poor cellphone quality—of us sitting on the table in the hotel's restaurant in Oslo, indescribably close to each other. In fact, our heads were so close, that it appeared as though we were about to kiss. In my memory, we were in no way as lost in the moment as we appeared to be in the photo, at least it sure didn't feel like it. _Goodness, did we really sit as close?_ A caption above the picture read, _"English rock singer and Ylvis (What does the Fox say?). The new hot couple?_ " It wasn't printed in big letters, meaning it wasn't some exciting news, but it was a good enough of an information to spike a gossip, otherwise it wouldn't have ended up in a magazine. Below it read a short text:  
  
 _"English lead vocalist of Absolution, Mary Laine (24) spent a few days in Norway with Ylvis (32), singer of last year's big hit popular as 'The Fox'. The couple was spotted in a hotel deep in conversation, and as pictured, even deeper in love. Could this be our new hot international couple?"_  
  
I blinked for a good few seconds in astonishment.   
  
Then: "Is it true?"  
  
Tess was looking at me intently. I was too shocked to utter a single word.  
  
"Is it true?" she repeated impatiently and rather persistent in her attempt to get a reply, her voice raised as much as she would allow herself, making her sound wacky.  
  
As my thoughts raced, I managed to recover just barely. "No!" I squeaked, sounding more defensive than I had intended.   
  
But Tess didn't seem to buy a word. "Explain, then!" she urged in a hushed whisper, her eyes wide with a hint of excitement.  
  
I shot her a glare. "Explain  _what_?"  
  
She rolled her eyes, sighing in annoyance. "This, of course!" she smacked her finger on the picture. The noise it made was loud enough to disturb James' sleeping state, but he didn't wake up, instead just murmured something undecidable and proceeded his peacefulness. Tess didn’t pay attention to him at all.  
  
I was at a loss of words. But the look Tess gave me demanded for answers. I could under no circumstance get away without explaining, so I knew I had to think quickly. "Well," I began, trying to find a right way to phrase it. Tess had been the friend who had forced me to listen to 'The Fox' a numerous amount of times in the first place. "We did  _make out_ , but nothing more hap—"  
  
"Nothing more happened!?" she finished for me, trying her best to keep her voice in control. Because, her curiosity obviously wasn't. "Goodness Mary, what were you thinking?"  
  
The short, exaggerated article was a lot, I admit to that, and it was a shock for sure, but her reaction was far too much. "Hey, you're acting like it's a really bad thing," I pouted, a little offended.   
  
"Mary, he—" but then she stopped, as though she suddenly realized something. I wondered what went through her head, but before I could ask, she beat me to the punch. "You're not in  _love_  with him, are you?" she wondered instead, emphasizing the word 'love' as though it was something forbidden.   
  
"No!" I blurted out far too quickly. I suddenly felt defensive, bewildered that someone might actually think I was in a relationship, as though that was absolutely the worst prediction one could make about me. "It's just an exaggeration." But for the shortest of moments, the thought that I  _might_   _be_ flew through my thoughts. That was only me identifying obsession with love, though, as I've always had a tendency to do so, and I was aware of it. Ignoring my silly thoughts, I focused on the girl in front of me.  
  
She sighed. "Good, good," she whispered, her hand cupping mine to give it the shortest squeeze.   
  
"What's good?" I inquired, interested.  
  
"That you're not in love," she clarified.  
  
I blinked, my face still serious. "Yeah, I mean I've barely even met him," I told her.  
  
At those words, her excitement reappeared and she straightened her posture. "So tell me, what happened? I want all the details!"   
  
Faking a laugh, I felt a strong urge for a cigarette. Talking about it felt like telling a special secret, and I didn't wish to do it. But, I went on to tell her anyway, otherwise it was clear that she would never let it go, and I just wanted to go back to sleep. "I met him in the club where we played in Oslo. Before we could actually hook up, though, I passed out," she didn't seem to be surprised by this piece of information; James must have told her already. _Goodness, did everyone hear about that?_ "He came to my hotel two days later, that's when the picture was taken."  
  
"To your hotel?" she exclaimed, clapping her hands and thus attracting the attention of an old lady who sat before us. With a polite smile, I sent her an apologetic look.  
  
Rolling my eyes, I exhaled heavily. "I didn't sleep with him," I explained needlessly. "We talked, and, well... made out, and that's that."  
  
Concern dawned her face out of nowhere. "Mary, you do know that he's…" she trailed off.  
  
My eyes widened as I waited for her to finish. "That he's what?" I pushed.  
  
She sighed before saying carefully in a low tone: "That he's engaged."  
  
"Engaged?" I echoed in disbelief, freezing at her words.

She nodded, her lips pursed into a thin line, eyes sparkling, freckles etched on her forehead.  
  
"To be married?" I added to emphasize.

"Is there another kind of engaged?"

"I—" I didn't know how to finish that sentence. Too stunned to even think, I fell back in my seat. I did have a question, however. "How would  _you_  know that?" 

"The internet, of course."

I mock-glared at her. "Are you kidding me? Did you look that up just _now_?"

"No!" she blurted out, annoyed. "He said it in his talkshow."

"You've watched his talkshow?"

"Of course!" she sounded vaguely offended. "You know I'm a fan!" I actually had no idea the extent of her dedication to men who sang dressed in costumes was as large. Nonetheless, I nodded in fake agreement. 

"Isn't his talkshow in Norwegian, though?" I had to ask. I didn't know a lot about Tess, but I was nearly certain she spoke no other language than English. 

She let out a sigh. "Of course it is. But it's translated in English on the Internet. This is the twenty-first century, Mary," she informed me in a rather irritated manner. 

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "Sure, sure it is." Then, after a short pause, I added: "You're weird."

"Hey," she said, "I'm not the one who almost slept with an engaged man." Then, she turned her attention to her magazines.

That really got to me. The way she said it, as though it were some sort of an accusation. As though I had crossed a line, although I had a tendency to often to that anyway. I finally stopped to consider the impact this new piece of information brought on to my in-depth analysis of Bård’s and mine (nonexistent) relationship. Was he really? Engaged? He couldn't be, could he? It was absurd of me to even doubt—or at all reconsider—the truth of it all. Because, it was something that made absolutely no difference to me, or so I tried to convince myself. Never had I cared before whether someone I wanted to simply hook up with was single, engaged, married, or whichever other ways people nowadays bond, nor did Bård and I do something I would disapprove of. Except, of course, he had cheated on a woman who, presumably, loved him. How could that not be unnerving? It was only because I had connected myself so closely to him in my head that I could see why people fussed and got so upset over these kinds of things. Of course, I always understood the side of the person who was cheated on—it was an inevitably hurtful situation—but what was with the small part of me that felt pain over the whole affair? As I loudly acclaimed only moments previously, nothing had happened between us. Except for a few kisses, of course. And a desire for one another. That wasn't anything big, now, was it? Nothing had happened—and that was exactly what I needed to convince myself to believe. I didn't even know the man, for fuck's sake.

I had no reason, nor excuse, to feel offended, so I knew I had to let it go. After all, I'd never cared whether a random one night stand was in a relationship or not.

Nonetheless, the rest of the train ride I spent in search for a meaning, for an explanation. Or rather, if there actually was any meaning to it whatsoever. In my bed at home, I laid sleepless for a long time. 

As yet another day greeted me, I decided it was best if I put it all behind me; such an ambitious and enthusiastic decision. All the over-thinking and analyzing were getting me nowhere. I lacked sleep and patience as well as concentration for the most ordinary day to day things. Even my roommate, whom I was not very close to, could see something was off. Mind you, something other than my rock'n'roll lifestyle, which she strongly disapproved of. She didn't wait a moment to ask me if I had screwed something up, as she was convinced I was bound to eventually, but I just shook my head 'no' and blamed my bad mood on jet lag. 

I was sipping on my unusually sweet coffee when my phone rang. It was nine o'clock in the morning and I grumbled. _Who on Earth calls so damn early?_   To add to my despair and disbelief, it was Bård's ID that popped up on my screen. My eyes widened as I re-read his name, with no clue what to make of it. Goodness, I had only just decided to let go of him. I answered the call with a somewhat surprised "Hello?"

"Hey," came Bård's voice from the other side. "How are you doing?"

"I-I'm good, thank you," I tried my best not to sound confused, and even better to hide the excitement that was rising up inside me. "Yourself?"

"I'm good, I'm good," he made a small pause. Then, he cleared his throat, and said: "Mary, listen, I'm calling to tell you that we, um... that we're sort of all over the newspapers over here."

Sufficient to say that I knew exactly what he was talking about, even though I hadn't considered that the little gossip would be much more worthy in Norway. He was a star there, after all. Whilst in England, they didn't even bother to look up his name, and simply called him 'Ylvis' instead. "Really?" I tried to act a little surprised. "How come?"

"Someone took a picture of us in the hotel," he began to explain, thus confirming my suspicions that we’d seen the same picture. Relief floundered inside me as I concluded there were no other photos, especially not from the night at the club…

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he confirmed, his tone casual. "And then that person sold it to the papers or something. It's been a popular rumor these past few days that we're a couple, so I thought I should let you know."

Past few days? I was perplexed at first, but then realized that the magazine in the train had been a few days old as well. So, I figured, that it must have been some really interesting information in Norway to stick around as long, even though over here it was quite insignificant to the media. At least long enough for him to call me to let me know. As the idea that might have used that as an excuse to contact me popped in my head, I couldn’t help but smile to myself. 

"Really?" I kept my voice even.

"Yeah."

Then, I surprised myself with my following words. "How did your fiancée take it?" In my head, it sounded like a good way to tease him, but the accusatory tone it came with was far too much of a reaction. I didn't want to react. I wanted to be cool and careless, as I certainly had no business in his private life. I slapped my hand to my forehead and cursed my loose tongue inwardly.

The pause from his side of the line was evident. My words took him by surprise indeed. "We, um, we... She—not so well, yeah, but that's not very important. It's quite a long story I'd rather not talk about right now." By the end of that sentence, he sounded almost icy. 

 _That's not important?_ How could that not be important? He had cheated on his goddamn fiancée and he thought it was not important of a subject to be discussed? I couldn't believe his idiocy, but then stopped myself from such thoughts to remind myself that I was no better. I was in no position to judge.

"I'm sorry," I said as sympathetically as I could. "Are you alright?" I asked, because the guilt that built inside me, suggesting that I might have—indirectly and unintentionally—ruined his relationship. Albeit, I couldn't know that it was so unless he'd tell me himself, but I couldn't bring myself to expand the subject. He made sure to sound uninterested.

"I'm fine," was his emotionless response. He didn't seem interested to question how my inquiry came to rise up. Thus I felt obliged not to push it.

I didn't like the way this was heading. I knew I'd curse myself later if I screwed this conversation up, and that was where I was headed. I didn't want my roommate to be right. I couldn't screw it up, and yet had no other solution that would lead it otherwise.

"So I've gotten you some publicity, haven't I?" I tried in a lighter tone.

"Some," he confirmed, picking up on my teasing note. 

"We're pretty big now, huh?"

As soon as I said it, the word 'we' rang through my head, over and over. I drew my hand to cover my eyes in embarrassment, inwardly cursing myself for saying it. There was no  _we_.

He seemed to pay no special attention to my little slip-up. "Yeah," his voice was brightening up.

"Please don't tell me you're calling to convince me to make a song with you," I joked, thankful he couldn't see my red cheeks that lit up with my previous comment. "No amount of publicity will do the job."

He began to laugh. "You're hard to please, now, aren't you? You could be a star in Norway, and yet you walk all over the opportunity," he mock-tutted.

I giggled in return, happy that our conversation had taken up an escape route from all the seriousness. "I'm sorry, I'm aiming for bigger success than that."

"Oh, so Norway's not good enough for a star like you," he concluded between chuckles. "Well, if this conversation isn't enough to convince you, I might as well as give up. This call is costing me a fortune," he informed me lightly.

"I thought you were worth a fortune," I retorted. "I can't see why that would be a problem."

He laughed again. "Oh, so that's why you took interest me. That explains a lot," then, after a small pause, he added: "Actually, work’s paying for my phone calls. I have to admit that it's no personal expense."

I shook my head, suppressing a giggle. "How charming."

"Impressively clever of me, isn't it?"

I rolled my eyes pointlessly, as he couldn't see me. "Yeah, yeah."

Just then, I heard a door being slammed shut over the phone. Then, someone else spoke, but I couldn't make out a single word, presumably as whatever it was, it was said in Norwegian. After a few hushed words, I heard Bård sigh. "Listen, Mary," he spoke; I loved the way he pronounced my name in his accent. "I'm gonna have to call you later, okay? Using this phone might not be such a great idea after all. I can already see my brother's reaction when the bills come," he chuckled to emphasize another joke, but his words were rushed. "It won't be pleasant at all."

I smiled to myself, despite my turmoil over his abrupt goodbye. "Alright."

"Alright," he reflected. "Until later, then."

"Yeah," I agreed, and then hung up.

The first thought that inhibited my head was: _What the hell was that all about?_ Even though I wondered what had cut our conversation short, my next challenge was to stop myself from actively staring at my phone, waiting for his call. It is indeed needless to say that I very much failed. 


	6. Solsikke

Although I waited, impatiently and eagerly, Bård's call never came that day. Nor the following, for the matter. Disappointment was only the beginning of what I felt. The silence made room for me to worry, analyze and over-think,—the exact opposite of what I wanted. Nevertheless, I felt submitted to it all, as he had loudly and clearly announced to call. What could have stopped me from wondering why he didn't? It was a natural response, if anything.

As sitting by the phone whole day long became a habit, slowly but steadily, I forced myself to find some sort of a distraction. Of course, I considered calling him myself, actually my fingers itched to dial his number, but I decided against it, elaborating with the reasoning that _he_  said that  _he_ 'd call, and so  _he_  should be the one to do it. Also, I had no real excuse. How would I start the conversation? _Hi, how are you and why the hell won’t you call me?_

There were quite a few answers I could guess at myself, in relation to such a question. However, the most obvious explanation was that I had indeed over-emphasized what had had happened between us, played it out as something so much bigger in my own head, whereas in reality nothing much had happened at all. It might have just been a way of giving myself something to do.

In Brighton, I only had James and Tess, but wasn't very fond of either of them. At least, not fond enough to spend my free time with these people. Taking a walk seemed pointless, as well as going out on my own. Writing music was a distraction I pointedly ignored, well aware that the depressive melodies that would result as products were unwanted. As I weighed down my options of things I could do but wouldn't, I realized that I had literally no other occupation but stare at the phone until I found something better to spend my time on. I had a gig the following weekend, which was two days away. Or rather, a century away if I received no call. It seemed like I would do little else until then, in fact. Just my hands and this phone.

My roommate Sarah had somehow gotten to the magazine article, which wasn't pleasant at all. Like I actually needed her nagging me on top of everything. Although she had never heard of Ylvis, let alone Bård, she felt it was her place to bombard me with dozens of illogical questions I did not want to answer. Albeit her distaste for my way of life, she found the little amount of publicity I had gotten somewhat interesting and exciting. She wanted to know everything about my new, and I quote: "love conquest", and demanded an answer as to why I hadn't told her about him earlier every time we came across. It took me an unreasonably long and torturous explanation to convince her that no, he wasn't my boyfriend and no, I wasn't in love, and that I didn't even know the guy until days ago. I shared recollections of the time I spent with him in small detail, completely leaving out Tess's revelation of his engagement.

First and foremost, it was because I didn't want her to judge me as she often was in a habit of doing. Secondly, I hadn't quite decided how to feel over the whole affair. How could he say (in not so many words) that his relationship with his fiancée was not important enough to be discussed? Of course, it would be irrelevant once he'd be out of my life. But he obviously wasn't. He had called, and that call meant something. It wasn't just a call per se, it was an expensive call from a different country to a person whom he had only spent a few short hours with, out of which a good part was consisted of making out. Making out while engaged to another woman, for crying out loud. Even though his excuse to tell me about the picture in the papers could settle all dilemmas, his promise to call again tumbled that barrier. Albeit we were nothing more, we definitely weren't friends either. From where I stood, telling me about his engagement was everything but unreasonable. 

That rose up another possible conclusion. Maybe he didn't call so he could avoid the very subject. But then again, what was I supposed to think? He surely hadn't given me much to work with. He left me hanging and I couldn't find a way to ease my pondering mind on my own. The open questions didn't let me close this story.

I had long moved on from wondering why I allowed a man to be my brain's main occupation. Neither did I continue to reason my feelings. The answer to both was one I couldn't find, and when an unsolvable problem arrives, it is the easiest to ignore it. And so I did, and although it brought me nowhere, at least I could focus on my complete obsession with a man who wouldn't call me.

Eventually, though, he was bound to do just that.

After more than three days since his promise to do so, or rather more than three days of staring at my damn phone, his ID lit up on my screen. The ringtone I had selected specially for him (in order to avoid getting excited whenever someone else would call) boomed through the room, just as I began to drift to sleep. It was in the middle of the night, adding up to the complete twist of the situation. That, however, didn't stop me from picking up straight away.

"Bård," was the first thing I could utter. Not very brightly, either, as I was half asleep.

I heard him exhale. _Relief?_ "Mary Laine," he said and I could almost hear him smile. "I can't stop thinking about you."

My sleepy eyes widened at his statement. _Well, that was short and straight to the point_. After three days of silence, he called to tell me just _that_ , and the most unclear question was: what for? To confuse me even more? Undeniably, I was not pleased.

"Oh, so that's why you took your time off from calling when you said you would," I didn't wait to attack, sarcastically too. It wasn’t long before I felt completely awake and all heated up for a discussion. "You needed time to _think_  about me. That explains so much, thank you," I continued cynically, not even bothering to hide my anger.

"Of course," came his bright reply. "It was an overwhelming task indeed!"

Did he think I was joking? His vexing attitude, the lack of seriousness on his side sent my insides boiling. I had no comment, just stared at the ceiling in disbelief. My wounded pride gave way to no words.

But not even my silence made him notice that I was in no teasing mood. "Oh, come on Mary, don't tell me you weren't doing the same."

It was then when I realized that there was something off in his tone. "No," I said, my voice even and my perception cautious to detect anything out of place. "I wasn't thinking about myself."

That sarcastic retort made him laugh for a long while. Much longer than necessary. Annoyed and offended, I considered hanging up without a word, but just then he spoke in a somewhat slurry manner, saying: "You're really smart, now, aren't you Mary Laine? And funny, you're very funny."

As my stomach flipped at the sound of him pronouncing my name in his own little accented way, only one question popped up in mind: _Was he drunk?_

Sighing at this possible realization, I pulled my phone away to check the time. "Bård, it's after three a.m.," I informed him, frowning. Meaning, it was more than four a.m. in Norway, all the more unreasonable hour for a person to call. "Is there anything in particular you'd like to say? I'd rather to go to sleep now." Which was far from the truth, really. I longed to hear his voice for a good amount of three days, but what he was offering now was far from the conversation I'd been yearning for. If anything, it made everything even more confusing. The last thing I needed was another set of turmoil. I would definitely remain sleepless for the following hours.

Again, though, he didn't seem to take me very seriously. "Mary, I..." he trailed off, and it took him nearly half a minute to continue. The silence was piercing, but I couldn't bring myself to hang up at that. I just couldn’t. Nothing was said, nothing that would ease my day-to-day obsession with him. I desperately needed him to help me get him off my mind.

"I'm so tired, Mary," he finally told me after what felt like an eternity.

Disappointed to have waited for no good outcome, I sighed. "Yes, Bård, it's very late at night. You ought to be tired," I needlessly reasoned.

Something was definitely off.

He ignored the sarcasm in my voice, and the whole sentence itself as well. "I'm tired of my life, Mary," he proceeded uneasily, his voice sad and low. 

It was the perfect thing for him to say in order to gain sympathy, but I couldn’t bring myself doubt his sincerity. My heart pumped a little faster at the thought that he really meant what he said. Unwillingly, I softened my tone. "Are you drunk?" I had to ask before saying anything else.

He began to chuckle lightly. "Maybe," he admitted before breaking into a real, loud laugh.

"Bård," I started carefully, trying to out-speak him; he didn't seem to pay much attention to what I was saying. "How much did you drink?" I felt indescribably ridiculous to be on this side of the question. 

He continued to laugh. Well, that was good enough for an answer. The more he laughed, the more irritated I became, but my concern grew as well. I didn't know if it was usual for him to drink or not, but calling me in the middle of the night wasn't normal under any circumstance.

"I'm so fucking tired to my life, Mary," he repeated himself instead of replying my initial question. 

I frowned and closed my eyes, exhaling heavily. Something was different than the tones the usual depressive babble a drunken state launched. He seemed so serious. I propped myself up on my bed, rubbing my eyes open as though it would help me figure out what to say. In a way, I felt I ought to give him more; more of my attention, my help, although I felt quite useless and clueless. "Are you alright?" was the only thing I could ask.

"Yeah," he was quick to respond, but then he very quickly corrected himself with a: "No, not really," and a few more mumbled words I couldn't understand. The speed of his speech collided with the slurry effects from the alcohol and it was difficult for me to decipher what he had said. 

I paused, unsure of the right way to proceed. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He chuckled once more, sarcasm traceable all over. "I... I fucked everything up," he said simply. 

Again, I hesitated before talking. "Bård, I'm sure everything's fine..." but I knew right away that it was the wrong thing to say. It is never the right thing to say that things are fine when a person is in a state of belief that they aren't - that was a rule I always obeyed, with obvious exceptions.

"No, Mary," he corrected me, sounding slightly angry. "Nothing's fine," he quoted me sardonically. I was a little put off by the sudden change in his tone. Before I could react in words, he proceeded to talk on his own. "I crossed a line I really shouldn't have. I did the thing I swore I wouldn't. And look at my life now, look at what I've done," there was pain in his voice, and I bit my lip. _What had I done?_  "Margit's left with our daughter, Vegard's too angry to talk to me, everyone at work keeps blaming me for fucking up our show's reputation or whatever, and on top of it all, I've got the media telling the whole country about it," he blabbered in one breath. He sounded both angry and desperate.

It was too much to process. On top of the fact that I still hadn't gotten used to the fact that he was engaged, he just informed me that—if I understood correctly—he was also a father. How did that manage to escape him while we talked about our lives in the hotel? Was having a child not big enough of a deal for a person to mention while summarizing the most important parts of his day to day life?

I wanted to yell at him, to be physically next to him so I could make sure he'd take me seriously. However, I couldn't bring myself to say anything, and instead I waited for him to speak once more. I knew he was in no condition to be just. 

"And yet," he began in a low tone, but prolonged the silence as though carefully considering what he was about to say. "All I think of is you, Mary," he finally added, ever-so-gently. He sounded hurt, defeated even.

On my side of the line, I blinked in the darkness, as though his words were somewhere in front of me to be seen. 

"It was you..." he continued, but trailed off.

My heart undertook a race, eagerly awaiting for him to proceed. "It was me what?" I prompted weakly. 

"There's something about you..."

I waited in silence, avidly expecting him to finish the sentence. It took him some time. I was not sure whether the alcohol or the lack of words were to blame for. But it was nevertheless enough time to mess with my head, to send my mine into twirls all over again.

But then he finally spoke. "I kissed you because I wanted to kiss  _you_ ," he emphasized the last word. "I crossed the line."

"What line?"

"I promised myself I wouldn't hurt Margit the way she hurt me," he confessed, although those words were quite meaningless to me. "One night stands... it's nothing, you know, when there's no feelings. But you..." he trailed off again, "you and feelings come in a package."

I exhaled a breath I didn't realize I was holding. I did not foresee this twist of conversation and I was little prepared for it. I couldn't—didn't want to—have to deal with his words, which were far too serious for me to take. I needed a drink myself badly, and I was definitely not in a position to deal with a drunk man over the phone. Especially not a drunk man who spoke of feelings. Feelings about me… My own messed up emotions were far too much for me already. He didn't call and yet here he was speaking of such things. Suddenly, I was upset.

"Bård, you're drunk," I reminded him, searching for an escape route. "Could we talk another time?"

"No, Mary, please," he pleaded in uncalled desperation. "You have to help me!"

"You're drunk," I repeated sternly. 

"I—"

"You should call me when you sober up, okay?" I interjected, sad to be as mean, but also reasonable enough to feel the necessity to end the call. "This conversation is getting us nowhere right now."

I needed answers, but I could use his current state to give my false hope advantage. I needed him to soberly choose every word he had to say to me.

"I..." I could sense he wanted to protest. But even in his drunken state, he must have seen my point, because he agreed with a sad, taut: "alright."

And that was all it took. How could I resist that low tone? I knew I couldn't leave him hanging, no matter how much my rational mind would protest. Instead, I quickly improvised a quicker solution. "Are you at home?"

It took him a brief moment to register my question. "Yeah."

"Alright. Do yourself a favor and throw the alcohol up."

"On purpose?" he asked, bewildered.

I rolled my eyes at his silly question. "Yes, on purpose. After you do that, drink as much water as you can. And if you feel sick, throw it all up again. And repeat the process," I instructed like a professional. "Do that, and call me when you sober up a little and we can talk, alright?"

I could feel him grow confused. 

"It will help you, I promise," I tried to assure him.

There was audible silence from his side of the phone. Then: "Okay, I'll do it," he finally agreed. "But don't hang up, okay?"

I sighed. "Don't be ridiculous. Need I remind you how much this costs you?"

"I don't care about that."

"You don't care about it now, but when the bills come, you will. Do yourself a favor and just call me when you're done."

"But—"

I hung up.

I was right to do so, because it took him a good amount of twenty minutes to call me again. It was enough time to send my mind swirling to infinity and beyond with questions. In the meanwhile, I swallowed a few big gulps of the vodka I kept in my closest drawer, which were indeed very much needed. They didn't do a lot for me, but the psychological effect they had on me was enough. It was an odd relief to know that an amount of alcohol was flowing through me, no matter how little it might have been.

I picked the phone up as soon as it sounded. "Feeling better?" I asked, keeping my tone light. 

Bård groaned, pain traceable all over his low tones. "This was such a bad idea."

I dissolved into giggles. "Man up. You'll be thanking me in half an hour, I promise you that much."

He gave out what sounded like a painful chuckle. "I do feel a little more sober."

I smiled in satisfaction. "You need some vitamins now," I reminded him. He had only gotten to the first step of the treatment I had set out for him. "Try eating a fruit."

He groaned once more. "I've listened you so far, but Mary Laine, nothing you say will convince me to eat right now."

I knew how he felt all too well. "Alright, alright. Take some pills instead."

"Pills?"

"Vitamin pills. Vitamin C preferably."

He sighed as he weighed down my suggestion. "Okay, I could manage that. I hope." I could hear him open and close a few cupboards and drawers, until he finally announced: "Found them! A much needed success in my life now!”

I didn't comment, just continued to listen to the sounds that came from his side of the line. The sink ran water, a glass was overfilled, and then I could hear a big, forced gulp. And then, the phone ended up on a hard surface, and I could hear Bård throwing his guts out all over.I laughed at the familiarity of the scene. Swinging my vodka bottle open, I ironically drank the amount of a three to four shots. The burning sensation in the back of my throat satisfied me to no end.

After a minute or two, Bård recovered his phone, saying a defeated: "I failed."

"Relax," I told him gently. "Take a deep breath and swallow another pill. Try not to throw it up. It will sting for a minute, but then you'll be fine."

I heard him moan and could almost picture him pout at that point. "Ugh... I can't."

"You have to. You need water and you need vitamins. You don't want to dehydrate, now, do you?"

"But it's so much pain..." he complained with a tortured tone. "I'll do it later."

I tutted. "You have to do it now, Bård. Please. You do want to feel better, right?"

He sighed in resignation, realizing that I would not give in very easily. "Fine," he spat. He indeed followed my advice, all the while I felt unusually proud on my side of the line. It was as though I had achieved something very important. It was one thing to deal with a drunk man, and a completely different to have to do it over the phone. A whole new challenge."Now what?" he asked as soon as he was done.

I smiled, satisfied. "I don't know. Sit down and make yourself comfortable."

"Alright, instructor," he obliged. Once he did as told, I heard him let out yet another sigh. 

"Are you feeling any better now?" I inquired softly.

He chuckled weakly in an oddly brave manner. "You could say that, yeah."

"Good," I acknowledged. His breathing itself sounded more even, and it was like I could almost feel him next to me in the darkness. Closing my eyes, I pictured just that. My mind struggled to revive the details of his presence; it felt so long ago. Had it really only just been days since we'd met? I felt like a whole infinity had passed.

"So..."

"So..." I echoed. But he didn't say anything. "Tell me about your fiancée, then." I asked with no little hesitation. I wasn't sure he wanted to talk about her, but I knew I needed the conversation to help myself.

I must have caught him off his guard, but he recovered quickly. It was a moment before he answered and he startled me because he laughed first. "It's a really complicated and long story..." 

"I've got time," I assured him. I really wanted to hear his story and needed answers to the questions that were torturing me for such a long time.

"Okay," he resigned. After another short pause, he began talking. "Margit and I have been together on and off since I was seventeen. It was a good relationship from the start. She was beautiful and smart and a real prize. She still is," he corrected himself with a chuckle. An unavoidable flick of jealousy overtook me which I pointedly ignored. "We grew older and she went to University just when I started to get into the show-business. We barely saw each other and she found someone else. That was fine with me, really, because I was young and careless and wanted many women," he stopped to laugh at himself a little. I could imagine him shaking his head.

"Two years later, we found our way back together. It was great, our passion was renewed and for the first time in my life, I fell seriously in love. We were together for a few years, happier than ever. I didn't do as much as look at another woman; I didn't need to, Margit was more than enough for me. But, it turned out I wasn't enough for her. She'd gotten back together with her boyfriend from University, behind my back too. I had no clue about it. She was pregnant, and I was overjoyed. We hadn't planned it, but I wanted her to have my child anyway. I really did. I got down on one knee, popped the question and she said yes. I was in heaven. It was a week later when I came her and saw her fighting with her ex. All hell broke loose. I knew they were still friends, so I was perplexed to see them arguing. He just turned to me and told me they'd been together for half a year back. I was shocked, to say the least," he paused, just when the hurt reappeared in his voice.

I saw it as an opportunity to say my very honest: "I'm so sorry..." I was unable to think of anything wiser to add.

"Yeah,” he agreed. “But the child was mine, and he didn't want to see her after that. We were separated until our little girl was born, and then decided we should try our best to make things between us work—for her. She deserved a happy family and we were the ones who had to give her that. At first it was easy, because a new-born child is much work, and between taking care of her and my job, Margit and I barely saw each other. Everything revolved around Lene,” as he pronounced her name, I heard an unmistakable tenderness in his tone.  

“But as she grew, we had to face one another. Things would go well one day, the other we'd fight, but it was still alright. We were working on it, both of us. Now, I'm not saying that there hadn't been any one night stands between then and now, because that would be a lie, but they meant nothing. I'm a man and I have my needs, and Margit was far from satisfying them," he reasoned. I shook my head in disapproval he could not see, and then reminded myself I was no better. "And then... then you came along."

He stopped at that point, and I was left speechless. I didn't know how to respond and instead resolved to another sip from my vodka. This sudden twist of the story was far too much for me to handle and I knew not what to make of it.

"You turned my head upside down," he said gently. "And as for Margit... I think it's just her pride that's hurt. She left without a word and took Lene with her. She won’t take my calls and... ah, it's a real mess over here, Mary."

Was I allowed to feel guilty? Because I sure did. Feeling like I had wrecked a happy family was agonizing. I had come out of nowhere and changed his world; or so he claimed. Another sting of guilt bit me as I felt happy the at least to some extent, he seemed to be going through the same turmoil I was. "I'm sorry..." I said, well aware that no words would help him in any way.

He suppressed a small laugh. "No, Mary, it's not your fault."

But I felt like it was. This feeling was disgusting.

"Things weren't going well between us anyway. We weren't happy. You just reminded me how it was to feel good next to a woman... if anything, I should be thanking you."

I gulped as my heart picked up its speed and threatened to be heard over the phone. I couldn't believe he was serious to begin with. "Bård..." I whispered in a lack of anything else to say.

"Can you feel it too, Mary?" he asked me out of nowhere with a quiet, gentle voice. "Or have I become completely immune to women and just woke up the night I met you?"

He put me on spot. I wasn't sure if I wanted him to know how I felt, mainly because I didn't know it myself. I couldn't just tell him he was all I could think about, and without a good explanation too. My head began to spin and I knew I had to slow down with all the thinking. "Bård, I..."

He then sighed. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be taking all of this out on you. I have no one else to talk to right now, and you... you rose something up in me, you know."

I felt my lips turning upwards and ignored my mind that tried to find reason, simply allowing myself do savor this special moment. "It'll be okay. You'll figure it out. It just takes time for the dust to settle down."

"Yeah, I hope," he said. After a short pause, he asked: "What about you?"

"What about me?"

He chuckled tenderly. "How are things over there?"

What did I have to tell? My story of sitting next to the phone, very impatiently too, was not a delight to be told. On top of that, all I could focus on was what he had said and taking the time off to actually think about it made no good phone conversation. "The usual," I replied eventually, in a boring manner.

"And what's the usual for Mary Laine?" he inquired, persistent to get something out of me.

I had to smile once more. "No drama, I assure you."

He must have noticed that I didn't want to say much. "Is your tour over yet?"

"Yeah," I confirmed with a slight frown. "I got back home a few days ago, actually. We had a great audience in Germany," I told him. 

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

"That's really great."

"It is."

"You're getting quite big now, aren't you?" he teased.

I laughed lightly. I played along: "Soon, we'll conquer the world."

"Yes, you better. The world needs some rock'n'roll."

I laughed some more in response. But even this plain, light talk would do no good in taking my mind off of the weight of what he had told me. I promised myself that I'd have enough time to go through it once we'd say goodbye, but it still got me feeling on edge.

After another brief pause, Bård said softly: "I'm sorry about tonight."

"You have nothing to apologize for," I soothed honestly. "It's alright, really."

Then, out of nowhere: "You are my solsikke."

Although I tried to wrap my mind around the word, I couldn’t interpret it for the life of me. "Your what?"

"Solsikke," he repeated nonchalantly.

It is safe to say I didn't understand it the second time around either. I frowned and raised an eyebrow to myself. "Okay..."

"My sunflower, you know," he finally explained, chuckling lightly at my reasonable ignorance. "Tonight you are my sunflower."

As realization dawned me, his words made me melt and felt ridiculous for it. "You're drunk," I reminded him, however flattered by the sweetness of his words. I'd been called many a things by men in my lifetime, but never a sunflower. It felt special in its own little way.

"No, not anymore," he defended. "You have given me the recipe of the cure. A very painful one at that, too." He then groaned, probably at the memory of the whole procedure. 

I smiled to myself. "Go to sleep, Bård," I commanded teasingly. 

"Sleep can wait."

My smile grew into a grin at his reluctance to cut this call short. "We'll talk tomorrow," I reassured him. "You need some rest."

Bård was bound to become aware that I was serious. Thus, he finally gave in. "Alright," he agreed petulantly. "I will definitely call you tomorrow."

"I'll hold you to that," I threatened half-jokingly, remembering what happened the last time he promised to call.

"I promise," he said softly.

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Good night, Bård."

"Good night, Mary," he whispered tenderly, and I hung up.

I started blankly in the darkness for quite some time. My mind traveled through our conversation, over and over. I kept repeating all of his words, trying to process on the new information this call had brought. But I didn't focus on anything much, for a change. I had promised myself to dedicate myself to pondering over this call as soon as it would end, but I couldn't do that just yet. As my mind felt worn out, I drifted to sleep easily, with the thought of me being Bård's solsikke. 


	7. A gift

The next morning I was awoken by Sarah. She had both her hands placed on my shoulders with an impressively hard grip and kept on shaking me furiously. "Wake up, Mary," she screeched repeatedly. "Wake up already!"

Once I fluttered my eyes open, it took me a few moments to take in my surroundings, as well as to realize what was going on. "W-what? What happened?" I grumbled, my vocal strings still asleep, and rose in panic after a few seconds; this was the first time for Sarah to disrupt my sleeping time—directly, mind you. Whatever she did it for, it must have been serious, I concluded in alarm.

"You have to see for yourself!" she exclaimed and grabbed me by the hand. Without giving me a chance to protest, she had me up on my feet, pulling at my arm as she began to storm us out of my room. She dragged me all the way through our small apartment to the front door. During that more or less voluntary walk, millions of questions struck me in a matter of seconds. Was our house on fire? Did someone die? Had there been a robbery? Was there an accident? Was there another magazine article? Or some sort of scandal? Did someone randomly drop in? Goodness, did _Bård_ appear out of nowhere? My mind swirled and swung through various improbable options, but Sarah remained silent, adding on to my dismay.

Once we finally reached our target, she pulled the door wide open briskly. Inexplicably afraid of what I might see, I scanned my surroundings thoroughly, with eyes wide and alert.

_Nothing._

Before I turned to face Sarah with a puzzled expression, though, something caught the corner of my eye. Ravishingly contemplating the space in front of me, my eyes widened in astonishment.

Right before my feet stood a vase containing a single sunflower.

I stared at it, unblinking, unconsciously holding my breath.

How on Earth did it get here?  _Bård Ylvisåker, what have you been up to?_

Then: "Sarah," I started carefully, doing my best to keep my voice in control. "Did you wake me up just to show me this _solsikke_?"

And thus Sarah became the one who was perplexed. "This  _what_?" she uttered in her confusion.

"Solsikke," I repeated irritably, and then actually remarked the word that exited my mouth. " _Sunflower,_ " I corrected quickly, slapping a hand to my forehead in an instance. I was  _not_  going to start to speak in Norwegian.

Sarah eyed me in bewilderment once more. "Yes," she scoffed confidently, "of course. It has your name on the tag," she clarified simply.

It was my turn to send a glare. " _Really,_  Sarah? A sol—SUNFLOWER, goddamn it!" The word just kept on slipping my tongue, completely unintentionally. A chain of self-curses flooded me inwardly. 

Sarah was sizing me up as though I were insane. " _Really_ , Mary. A sulsikker," she confirmed.

"Solsikke," I corrected impatiently.

She rolled her eyes pointedly. "Whatever," she retorted, not missing a beat. She crossed her arms at her chest and tapped her foot rhythmically.

I shot her another look of dismay. "Sarah, I haven't slept for days. I finally fell asleep, damn it! I would have seen this flower  _anyway_ , once I’d woken up properly!" Sarah knew it well that insomnia had followed me through the past year and she knew it even better how valuable every precious moment of sleep was. She, however, felt free to blame the cocaine for it, but I never admitted to it, of course. _I have it under control,_ I thought bitterly. "You should  _not_  have woken me up," I indulged stubbornly.

"Yes," she acknowledged, shifting her weight to her left leg. She slanted her head a little to the side, fixating her eyes in a squint. "But we've been roommates for how long—two years now? And this is the first time you've received something as pleasant as  _a flower_. Excuse me for finding it odd."

I sighed, annoyed. "Yes," I said pointedly. "But you didn't have to wake me up," I remained stubborn.

"Just read the goddamn card already!" she nearly demanded, swinging her arms to add to the dramatic effect.

I'd been so concentrated on fighting with Sarah that I'd completely forgotten of the whole significance the flower potentially bore. Quickly but steadily, I knelt in front of the vase. A small card was attached, and it had the simple writing of "A sunflower for my Solsikke" on it.

My mouth spread into a grin.

My previous suspicions of who had sent it were proven correct.

"What does it mean?" Sarah inquired impatiently.

I ignored her and read the same words once more. _Goodness, is he adorable_.

"Is it from your boyfriend?" she pressed, her curiosity untouched by my disinterest to reply.

I slowly moved my head upwards and shot her a dirty look, as though by default. "For the hundredth time, Sarah, he is  _not_  my boyfriend."

"So it is from him!" she concluded, clapping her hands together in victory. "The Norwegian guy." Her words sounded almost like an accusation.

Continuing to ignore her, I rose up to my feet and headed inside our apartment in means to escape her questions. She matched my quick pace, though, and followed me in. "Why won't you admit you're a couple?" she pushed, well aware of how much it annoyed me. "Is it because he has a child?"

I stopped to look at her, my eyes wide with anger. "How do you know about that?" It was a very good question indeed, as he had told me only hours previously, on the phone at that, and I hadn't told a single person since. _Did she overhear our conversation_? Or called him herself? Sarah was crazy enough to do that.

"I googled him, of course," she said, matter-of-factly.

I cursed my stupidity inwardly. Why hadn't I thought of that? Everyone was one step ahead of me with that damn internet. Oh well, technology had never been a good friend of mine.

"Right," I muttered, nonetheless; with a new idea to fight off her curiosity. "Since when do you care about me and my life?"

That struck Sarah in an odd, indescribable way. Just as I had predicted. "I don't," she insisted uncomfortably.

"So," I said, clearly and loudly, in the obvious conclusion: "Stay out of my relationship!"

Little did I know that it would only backfire.

"Oh, so you admit that there's a relationship! Ha!" she rose her fists in success. " _Now_  you have to tell me about everything. I heard you were on your phone in the middle of the night." For a second I considered that she might be stalking me, but then again, the wall between our rooms was indeed pretty thin. "Is it because of the different time zone? Was it a reasonable hour over there in Norway? Is he coming to visit you? Are you—"

I turned deaf to her monologue. Very rudely, I hid inside my room and shut the door closed before her face. I liked to believe that she had very much earned it. She knew it well that I wouldn't provide a single reply no matter how much she insisted. I heard a muffled "Hey!" coming from outside my room as I sat on my bed. I reasoned that I had more important things to deal with than my roommate's sudden interest in my private life. Things like admiring my new gift.

I was holding on to the vase. Wordlessly, I stared at the yellow flower. It looked incredibly fresh and well-grown, a true prize winner. I sniffed it, but it didn't smell like anything in particular. In truth, I had never seen a real sunflower before. It was a very interesting flower indeed up close, with its almost thick, yellow leafs. As I placed it on my nightstand, a smile played with my lips unconsciously. Without taking my eyes off it, I took hold of my phone, and didn't hesitate to dial Bård's number.

He picked up after exactly two rings. "So you received my flower," he guessed in greeting.

Rolling my eyes, I grinned to myself. "Yeah," I confirmed, my voice still dry from sleep, but warm nevertheless.

"And?"

"And what?"

Bård chuckled faintly. "How do you like it?"

My eyes flew back over to where it was placed safely on my nightstand, admiring it as I spoke. "Oh. It's beautiful. Very beautiful," I complimented with a smile. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he responded enthusiastically. "It  _is_  a sunflower, right?"

The question confused me. "Um, yeah?"

"Oh good, I'm just checking. One can never trust phone orders." As he said that, all I could think of was the trouble he had gone through to get me a simple, single flower, and yet it was such a happy, symbolic metaphor.

And then, another thought hit me. "How did you know my address?" 

A chuckle came from his side of the line before he told me quite confidently: "I have my ways."

Somehow, I didn't wish to push it any further. "How are you today?" I asked in attempt to change the subject. Flattery and presents had never been my favorite themes of discussion; I often had no clue how to deal with them. The talk of his beautiful and yet totally unexpected gift sent my guts shifting uncomfortably. Also, the price of the call remained in the back of my head. I never seemed to have enough money on my phone.

He chuckled some more. "Oh, I feel like _shit,_ " he emphasized before adding: "But other than that, I'm unusually bright today."

I desperately searched my mind for a question that would certainly beat the prospect of supreme awkwardness. I couldn't establish why exactly I felt as uncomfortable over the whole thing. It was just a  _solsikke,_  for fuck's sake. "So, have things began to look up?" I finally asked.

"Um, no, or well, not in the way I was hoping for. But," he paused melodramatically, " _I've_  started to look up. Calling you has done wonders for me."

And of course I felt the now usual, teenage feelings in my abdomen at the sound of those words.

He was exceptionally bright for a person who was supposed to suffer from a hangover indeed. "Oh, I'm glad," I said, rather surprised.

"Did you sleep well?" he inquired in return.

"Yeah, I did, up until my roommate woke me up to tell me that a solsikke came for me." As soon as the word left my lips, I punched my leg in reflex for letting it slip. _It was a goddamn sunflower, damn it!_

He laughed sweetly at that. "I'm sorry I sent it as early. I was impatient to talk to you," he admitted. "I figured you'd give me a sign when you woke up once you'd get the  _solsikke_ ," he snickered.

I took a glance at the clock on the wall above my bed. It was only ten o'clock in the morning. Goodness, I was tired. "Well you've been up for a while, then," I murmured in conclusion.

"Yeah. For two hours now, actually."

Alright, so he indeed was as impatient as he claimed to be.

"Have you got any plans for the day?" he asked me before I had a chance to comment.

I furrowed my eyebrows at his question. Initially, I hadn't much to do, but 'thinking of Bård' had become an activity of its own that required an incredible amount of time and dedication. But really, until the gig my band had booked for the following day in London, I had very little to do. "You do know that to make any plans, one has to wake up first and face the day," I told him pointedly. 

"Ah, the life of a  _normal_  person," he prolonged the word 'normal' most dramatically.

I suppressed a giggle. "What, so all of a sudden you are not a normal person?"

Slipping away from an answer, he had something else to say: "I see. So this is how it's gonna be from now own," he mock-concluded, his amusement all too traceable.

"What do you mean?"

"You're going to tease me for my wrong choice of words, aren't you?" he clarified, and then added: "Just for the sake of it, too."

"Hey! I'm not doing that!" I defended honestly.

He smirked at my tone. "Oh, so what you are saying is that you didn't have a clue that my point was to emphasize the 'normal life' instead of 'person'?"

It was my turn to laugh at myself. "No, I admit I didn't catch that." His English was exceptionally good, and not for a moment did I think we'd face communication problems (which of course, we didn't really). At the very least, his vocabulary was an improvement from all the disconnected words I’d heard during my previous tour. Speaking no other language than my native English myself, I was at awe at anyone who was able to produce such good conversation in a different tongue as it was.

"Mary Laine," he forced his tone serious. In the meanwhile, some unknown creatures decided to play a dynamic game inside my stomach all over again, just at the sound of him pronouncing my name. I indeed began to wonder if there was another 'teenager' phase in the human life, and if I had taken it up. "I depend on your English skills right now. If you aren't capable of twisting your mind around my foreign logic of words, I'm afraid we'll never be able to understand each other." By the end of that sentence, it was very obvious that he was concealing a laugh, which was of course a fail in its own way. "I can only get about seventy percent of the conversation correctly."

"Oh no," I exclaimed, "we cannot afford to misunderstand each other. Those are some seriously bad statistics. Especially when it comes to the important difference between a 'normal life' and a 'normal person'," I played along, acting as serious as I could. "I vow to put my hundred percent into our conversation from now on, and to conveniently read your mind whenever you fail to phrase something correctly."

He tutted mockingly. "That's not going to be enough, Mary Laine," he faked disapproval perfectly, a product of years and years of television. He could be a flawless actor, as far as I was concerned. "You have to put your two hundred percent into this."

I could no longer withhold laughter. After a few moments of giggling relentlessly, laying in my bed with my hand clutched to my stomach as my muscles tightened, I worked to catch my breath. It wasn't _that_  funny, really. Had someone else said it, I'm certain I wouldn't have been as amused. "Alright, dear," I finally managed to say. "You have my external brain into this."

"Good, good," he approved, allowing himself a small chuckle. "Now that I've got your attention, could we get back to our original subject?"

"Yes, of course," I said and searched for a pack of cigarettes in the background. A nicotine hit was much craved even at this early hour. "Discussing the aspects that make your life far from normal is essential to the evolution of the human race, and to some level, the meaning of life itself. We owe it to the world to at least talk about it."

It was his turn to laugh senselessly. "Yes, indeed," he eventually said, still chuckling, fighting to breathe evenly. "Anyway, what I wanted to say is, my life makes plans for me."

I finally located my cigarettes; they were exactly where I had left them earlier—below my bed—but my brain proved itself to be dysfunctional to anything that didn't involve Bård. However, I just held on to both the pack of cigarettes and lighter, completely forgetting about my initial intention.

"That must be fun," I commented to his statement, rather sardonically.

"Oh yes. I no longer have to wake up first and face the day in order to make plans," he quoted, "unlike you poor, normal humans." I could imagine him grinning, that beautiful smile of his. "I've had it scheduled for at least a week previously."

"What an advantage," I said, shaking my head a little. Although, I had no idea if that was any better than the way I—the supposedly normal person—had it.

"Sometimes it is," he admitted honestly. "But mostly it sucks that I don't get to decide how to spend my time."

At this more serious turn of conversation, I finally remembered to light a cigarette. That caused a pause in our conversation, albeit not a lull. As I took my first drag for the day, I began to feel more awake and alive.

"What was that clicking sound?" Bård inquired instead of carrying on.

"Oh, it was my lighter," I informed him nonchalantly.

"Do you smoke?" 

I took another drag from my cigarette in an answer he could not see. "Yeah."

The nicotine did its usual wonders. 

The fact that he hadn't seen me with a cigarette was a nonverbal proof of how little time we had spent together. I was, after all, a passionate smoker. That came as another reminder of my day to day involvement with a man I barely even knew.

He considered my reply for a few seconds. "Isn't that bad for your voice, though?"

I was amused by the pure innocence of his question. "I'm a big girl, Bård," I stated lightly, "my voice can take it."

He took another few seconds. Then, as I was taking yet another drag, he pressed: "But, what if you can't sing one day soon just because of that?"

My eyebrows flew up high. He indeed had a point, but a disprovable one all the same. I'd dealt with that question before, so I knew my usual approach. "You do know John Lennon, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"And Paul McCartney?"

"Um, yeah. What do they have to do with your voice?"

Again I laughed. "Well, they used to smoke non-stop through their Beatles years—even after that, I'm sure," I informed him. "And yet, can you say that they aren't two of the most recognizable vocals in the history of music? Or that Paul McCartney can't sing nowadays, just because he couldn't get away from his cigarettes?"

I could imagine him nod in agreement. "You do have a point, I admit to that."

"You don't have to worry about my voice," I assured him while ironically taking another drag.

Bård chuckled. "Alright, if you say so. But then there's lung cancer, and a bunch of other medical stuff and—"

I interjected: "Yeah, yeah, I know the mumbo jumbo precautions."

"You shouldn't dismiss them like that, then," he retorted.

I searched my thoughts for a change of subject. "Have we discovered the meaning of life yet with this particular knowledge?"

But he didn't reply nor laugh. Did he get angry at me because I had swung from the subject like that? I waited for a good amount of ten seconds to ask: "Bård?"

Confused by his silence, I smashed my cigarette into the ashtray exactly when my ringtone sounded loudly into my ear, startling me to a level of actually making me jump. Settling back in my bed, I answered Bård's call. The money on my cell phone must had gone out, I concluded irrevocably. 

"You were saying?" he asked brightly the second I picked up.

"Ah, I'm sorry about that," I said, a little embarrassed. "I never seem to have enough money on my phone."

"Oh, you had a reasonable amount of it," he reassured me. "We've been talking for almost half an hour, after all."

Almost half an hour? That information came as a shock first, but once I took a moment to think about it, I realized that it was indeed true. It is safe to say that time flew away for me. 

"And yet we still haven't discovered the meaning of life," I tutted in a teasing manner.

He laughed; _oh, that marvelous sound_. "Is that what you were saying when you left me hanging here?" he asked, faking a few sobs.

"Yeah." Then, a thought hit me. "Aren't you at work or something?"

"Yeah," he confirmed brightly. 

I shook my head in disapproval. "Oh, you slacker."

"Hey, I thought you liked talking to me!" he exclaimed, amused.

I did, even more than he believed, without a doubt. "Sure, we could say that, if it helps you sleep at night."

"Aren't you funny, now, Mary Laine?"

Again those tiny, millions of butterflies raced in my abdomen. "I have my virtues," I acknowledged. Being identified as funny was mildly unusual for me. Most people opted for serious. But, joking with him came naturally.  _He_  was the funny one, for sure, bringing out the humor in all those around him.

"And a lot of them, too," he flirted in response.

"You're not bad yourself," was my pathetic comeback. 

"But that doesn't solve the question of the meaning of life," he went back to our previous joke.

"There are a lot of mysteries at bay," I confirmed. "Stuff like the secret of the Fox."

I could hear him laugh on his side of the line. "And the meaning of Stonehenge," he added, but that didn't mean much to me.

Nonetheless, I was obliged to provide a retort. "Oh, don't bring the Stonehenge into this. It is too complex of a subject."

That definitely wasn't the reaction he had bargained for. "I take it you haven't stalked me on the internet yet."

I definitely hadn't, but many of my acquaintances had done more than enough of that for me. "Was I supposed to?" I wondered innocently.

He chuckled. "There are some cool stuff to be seen, I suppose.”

"Alright, I should do that later, then, since it means so much to you." 

"Oh, please don't," he pleaded mildly, presumably regretting he had brought it up at all. I myself could only guess of the nature of things I could find out about him online. "I was only joking," but after a small pause, he added: "You could listen to our songs, though. They're on YouTube."

"Alright."

"Just to be square," he continued. "Because, I've already listened to all of yours."

That took me by surprise. My music was on the internet? "You have?" I was bewildered, to say the least.

"Of course! I am your biggest fan, you should know that."

My face lit up in a grin. "That's awfully sweet of you," I told him honestly, in lack of a wiser response.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm a little disappointed you haven't done the same," he admitted, but I could tell he wasn't serious. 

"Well hang up already, and I'll do it," I teased.

"Do I have to?" he spoke in such a voice that I could almost see him pout.

I giggled. "You should go back to work, you slacker."

"Do I have to?" he repeated. "Work can wait."

"Your songs can't."

"Ah, I see. I've at last sparked some interest in you."

I rolled my eyes to myself. "At last you have."

He sighed. "Alright, you go and do that, but promise to call me afterwards, okay?"

I was a little disappointed he had taken me as seriously; although I did intend to listen to his music, I would rather savor the moment in order to talk to him. "I will," I assured him in defeat nonetheless.

"I guess this is goodbye, then, Mary Laine."

I smiled sweetly. "Goodbye, Bård," but I didn't hang up.

"Bye, Mary," he said instead.

"Bye," I echoed.

This time around, he hung up. I mentally made a note to refill my cell phone's credit as I walked to my computer in order to do what I had promised. A layer of dust was spread above the machine as I seldom found use for it. Instead of waiting for it to start, I headed to the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. The minute I walked out of my room, though, I realized that I'd fail to shield myself from Sarah as I entered our mutual area of the apartment. But, as my odd luck would have it, she was nowhere to be seen. She must have gone to work, I concluded silently.

I assembled a cup and filled it with water halfway before placing it into the microwave. While waiting for the water to boil, I amused myself by going through Bård's words of the day. The easy-going way through our conversation was something I was proud of, as I had somehow avoided to make a whole mess through words. Talking had never been my specialty. Mainly because I never knew how to put my thoughts into words, and thus conversation itself annoyed me immensely. This time around, though, I cherished every word.

The microwave sounded, signaling the end of its work, and I filled my cup with two spoons of coffee; the damn caffeine was more than necessary, as I had no intention to return to my bed. Smiling, I headed back to my computer, walking into a world full of sense of humor I had never yet encountered. It is needless to say that I enjoyed every second.


	8. A Ticket

As my life went on, talking to Bård became the most natural thing on the planet. The amount of time I could be found with a phone in my hand was bloody ridiculous, in a lack of better explanation. I learned all kinds of new things from my new habit, too. For example, I found out that a phone could not only have Internet, but also that through certain applications, one could communicate with the entire world for (relatively) free. This piece of information was completely useless for me, as I didn't have a smartphone. After a torturous procedure of setting the Internet up, I tried to download some applications, as per Bård's instructions (who was incredibly patient through my ignorance of the modern technology), but it was all in vain: the phone's memory proved itself to be very limited and insufficient. After I had spent so many hours with it, it almost seemed as if that stupid piece of plastic wanted to prevent our communication. Thus, we proceeded to talk through the more traditional way I was well capable of keeping up with.

One would think that two people would grow bored after talking as much as we did, but for us it was quite the opposite. We barely knew each other, and therefore had a lot of things to share. In fact, we talked little of the past, and mostly focused on the things that were happening to us in the recent time. And so I hadn't a lot to share, but Bård's life was more than enough eventful for us both. New things came up ample, every single day.

He told me about all the drama that was happening over there. In the meanwhile, the media stopped printing the story of our supposed 'relationship', which was a great relief indeed, but its column was replaced by something a little worse, to put it mildly: interviews from his fiancée. She liked to tell long rigmaroles and she told a lot. Of course, she told the story through her own viewpoint that was only a little unnerving. That certain 'little' was a whole lot, actually. In defense of her injured pride, she painted the most godawful picture of Bård, which to a level he admitted he deserved, therefore he did not defend himself. She, in turn, apparently used this fact and poured even more scorn at him. An exhausting vicious circle, in which Bård—and I—were caught _(doing nothing, really)._ However, it was one thing for a couple to fight their way through a hard break up, and another to mix the media into it, which trembled for every new "sensational" headline. Margit was playing her advantageous cards in order to bring Bård down, and he definitely didn't like it, albeit he coped with it more lightly than I expected and better than I would probably do it. Whenever he'd call, he'd sound devastated, but soon enough, I'd somehow manage to cheer him up. A great success indeed.

On the brighter side of the things he shared, his brother had finally come around and started talking to him. It was definitely what Bård needed, I concluded soon enough. He became distinctly more cheerful and positive. Apparently, the whole reason why they didn't talk wasn't because Bård had cheated (seemingly, that was no news), but because he had been so careless and let the media get a hold of his "little adventures", as his brother had named them. It wasn't the show's reputation that was at stake, but Bård's, and Vegard disapproved highly of what he had done to Margit. Eventually Bård settled it with a: "Oh well, however bad it might have been from my side, it ended the long battle of reviving a broken relationship. I'm so glad that this struggle is finally over."

I didn't think it was harsh, because from the little I knew, it had been a painful battle for them both, but then again, I was saddened by the fact that they had wasted so much time, nerves and tears trying to fix something that simply couldn't be.

He did try his best to avoid the subject of his fiancée, though. I didn't know what to make of it, but I wondered if it was because he was just tired of talking about her or because of a form of relationship was definitely evolving between us. But he talked a lot about his daughter, and that brought the whole theme of Margit back up. He hadn't seen Lene for two weeks, and was dreading it. "I'll bring the goddamn lawyers into this if I have to," he told me with a voice which trembled with agitation, "but I'll give Margit one last chance to reconsider her decisions. I let myself be dragged through the mire, but I will not let her take away Lene from me."

But he waited. He didn't want for the mess to become any bigger than it already was. A mess that was caused by one single crappy picture. Fame had its downsides, certainly.

The gaps in between our phone calls were caused by his busy work schedule. He avoided calling me from his office, and I figured it was because he didn't want his colleagues (especially his brother) to know that he kept in touch with the woman who brought the whole scandal to surface. It was a safe guess, really, backed with my recollection of the day he called from work; he spoke with a tensed, quiet voice and ended our conversation in a haste. The second he was alone in his house, though, he certainly made up for it.

Contrary to him, I was always available. My only real occupation were my gigs, which didn't happen very frequently. We had a follow up small tour that wasn't due for yet another two weeks. Sufficient to say that it gave me plenty of free time. Plenty of time which I more or less voluntarily spent on the phone with Bård. Or waiting for Bård to call.

Neither of us tried to reason why we felt the urge to hear from one another all the time. Undeniably, in my sleepless nights my mind pondered over how it happened for us to get so connected and if it made any sense at all, but then I'd remember something sweet he had said earlier and it would all be fine. And, he definitely gave me a lot of such things to think about. Things like, when I'd pick up the phone only moments after I had woken up, he'd comment: "I love how raspy your morning voice is," or the way he'd ask me to sing a few lines just so he could, and I quote, "fangirl over Absolution." His flirtatious tone mixed well with his unmistakable sense of humor. And he indeed had heard all of my band's songs—he could even sing along to some of them. It was crazy. And it was beautiful.

I tried to quote his songs in return and to laugh over the Ylvis jokes I now understood, but he never seemed to find it as amusing as the subject of my career. He seemed so excited that I was an _actual_ singer in an _actual_ band. Somehow, it felt as though he was trying to escape his own crazy world through me.

After a while I tried to calculate the amount of money we spent on all of these calls, and how many plane tickets could have been bought with the same amount. Which of course, was a subject of its own that was bound to come up between us unavoidably.

"When will I see you, Mary?" Bård asked me out of the blue one fine evening.

I smiled like a lunatic at the warmth of his voice, spiced with a touch of desire. "I don't know," I replied honestly.

"Why don't you know?" he inquired, although if I had asked him the same thing, he would have given me the exact same answer. He was aware of that.

I tried to shrug it off, but he pressed for a real response. In my lack of one, I murmured a hopeful: "Soon."

He refused to be fobbed off with this undefined answer and had his follow up of: "When is soon?" and to that, I couldn't voice an answer at all. "When is soon?" he repeated. "Somewhere forward in the infinity of soons?"

I dissolved into giggles. The  _'soon'_  we talked about indeed felt like it was an infinity away. But that's where we dropped the subject for the day.

It became a little thing.  _Our little thing_. He'd often ask whether the infinity was shortening and nearing our _soon_. As we became more and more eager to be physically together, we'd talk around meeting up through the coded subject of the 'infinite soon'. But we never seemed to be able to define it. After our phone conversations would have paid for a calculated price of seven flights to Oslo and back (First class!), I finally asked him, "Come to me, Bård."

"Come to you?" he questioned in surprise.

Thus, the barrier of the _soons_ was tumbled to the ground into a million of tiny shredded pieces.

It was late at night, and I was alone in my bed. My room was dark enough to allow me to picture his face without actually closing my eyes. Nonetheless, I squeezed them shut and sighed. "I want you next to me," I told him in tender honesty.

He sighed as well, and it was a long breath he was exhaling. "If I could only teleport right now," he chuckled slightly, but I could pick up his sad tones.

"I am serious."

"So am I," he assured me.

"Teleport, then," I urged, nearly desperately.

He exhaled yet another sigh. "I'd work my way around it, if I only knew how."

Although we had flirted an inglorious amount, we had never gotten as straight to the point before. As my heart rate rose, I could only think of how much I wished he could actually do it. The need to be in his arms, or rather to feel his lips on mine, was becoming the better of me.

The tension on his side was no less notable. "I better get around buying a plane ticket."

And then we couldn't decide on who should be the one to travel. The obvious conclusion was that it should be me, but I felt very uneasy to enter his messy environment. Although the dust around Bård's 'engagement scandal' was steadily settling, I was afraid I'd have to face his brother, who was not fond of me in the very least, or even worse, face the mother of Bård's child. He assured me that I wouldn't have to leave his house for a single moment, let alone come in contact with another person over there. That was not reassuring in the slightest, nor was it an inviting idea. But I had no better argument, and we both anticipated our meeting eagerly, so I felt as though I was left no other choice.

A plane ticket was bought—by him, without much consent on my side too—and I was to fly to Oslo in exactly four days after the conversation. All he did was call, telling me that he'd bought the ticket and instructed me to go to a travel agency in the city to pick it up.

It escalated so quickly that I could barely wrap my mind around it. I didn’t even tell anyone I was leaving, not even my band, not even my nosy roommate. _Oh, how she would love to hear this._

Before too long, I was sat in a plane, wondering how it all came to be. In fact, I had to be back in Brighton in less than three days, as my tour around England was due to begin at last. But that was still far away. It was only ‘soon’, and there was an infinity of those.

I had bigger things to worry about. Things like actually seeing Bård, to whom I'd talked so much, and yet still felt like he was a part of a dream. To stand next to him, to hear him right without a piece of plastic clamped to the ear, to see him, to feel him... all this would make it real as it gets, and now that I was about to do it in a few hours, my inner dilemmas were igniting. What if getting along in this completely insane way was an illusion formed by the distance between us? What if, now that we'd be in one place, we wouldn't like each other? And the biggest question of it all, what did all of this mean? We never explained to one another how it came to this flight to Oslo. It just happened out of nowhere. We made the mistake of working around the subject for too long. Yes, we had our ‘little thing’ without further explanation.

As the plane began to descend, I felt more and more anxious by the moment. My heart did crazy things and I unconsciously tapped my foot as a result to the nervousness that overwhelmed me. What was I going to say once I saw him?  _Should I hug him? Kiss him?_  At that point I viciously hated the fact that we weren't straight-forward enough to come up with rules. We needed some, badly. I needed to know what page we were on. We had talked about so much, but avoided the most important theme.

When the stewardess announced we could exit the plane, I thought I was going to lose it, right there and then. I swallowed hard. I desperately needed a drink, or something of the sort that would ease my nerves.

The boring airport procedures lasted a perceived infinity of their own, although they passed in a haze for me. My concentration and focus were nowhere to be found and recognized, and all I had left were my own nervous thoughts, my tense body and shaky movements. I moved like a drunk, which was extremely ironic. A sip, only a single one, would have been sufficient... the only thing that kept me from buying something at the airport was the thought Bård. I grinned crookedly. My impatience to see him was non-measurable, no matter how much self-doubt overwhelmed me. 

It had indeed been a long time since a human being had made me feel this way. Actually, I had never traveled to a different country just for a man, that's for sure. But instead of drowning in excitement over the whole (almost completely unplanned, very random and impulsive) adventure, I dreaded each moment in fear that I would manage to fail myself in some way. Or even worse, fail Bård, or disappoint him to a level that would make me wonder why he insisted on my visit so passionately.

After all, we were almost complete strangers. Strangers, who had talked every single day in the past three and a half weeks. Although Bård's voice had become my day to day companion, to actually have him next to me was immensely different. I couldn't handle  _different_.

Per Bård's instructions, in order to avoid another scandalous picture, I was to meet him in the garage. He told me he'd wait by the entrance. However, actually getting there was a challenge of its own. Over the phone, it sounded like the easiest task on Earth, but in practice, I began to laugh at my childish silliness. It was as though I had believed I could manage to magically find my way through a Norwegian place.

For good five minutes, I stood in place, trying to decipher my surroundings. The only sign that spelled "Exit" lead to outside. After a while, I turned my brain on, and remembered that the garages in airports were mainly underground. Thus I found my way to an elevator (which of course, wasn't as simple as it sounds) that took me to the aforementioned garage. However, I did not end up at the entrance, or at least not the one where I was supposed to meet Bård.  _It started well,_  I thought.  _Not even an hour here and chaos has already befallen me. Befallen us._  I was not superstitious at all, but at this minute I hoped that it was not an omen for the entire trip.

Tired, exhausted, and most of all—nervous, after my eyes scanned in interior, I proceed to circle the huge room in search of the man who had thought all of this was a good idea.

When I saw him, my heart literally skipped a beat. 

_Yes, it certainly was a good idea._

There he stood, in front of a big door that was obviously the entrance I was supposed to find, or rather, he was pacing back and forth. I stood in place, immobile, and just took him all in. He seemed to match my nervous state, certainly. His feet hit the ground almost furiously, and he checked his wristwatch impatiently. _What was he thinking? Was he wondering why I was so late? Or maybe, did he wonder if I had come at all?_

He was running a hand through his hair when he saw me standing there. Even from the distance I saw his chest subside. He seemed to sigh with relief.

When our eyes met, I forgot about all my dilemmas and fears. My feet began to make their way to him on their own, and it wasn't long before we met halfway.

I fell motionless once again and he was there, in front of me, silent and just as frozen to the ground. He looked exactly like I had remembered him. His long blonde hair pushed back in a careless manner, his bright blue eyes piercing and inviting, his lips...

"Mary," he breathed huskily, snapping me back to reality.

"Hi," I said in return, my voice barely above a whisper.

He blinked a several times, without breaking eye contact. His face seemed, what—tense and delighted? Excited? "Welcome to Oslo," he said after a few wordless moments, and wrapped his arms around me with no warning. His very professional manner.

I was quick to hug him back, but it lasted too short, however long enough to realize finally that all this was not a dream. "Thanks," I managed to reply.

He smiled. "Let's get to my car before someone snaps a photo," was his attempt at a joke.

Obligingly, I laughed only barely, and with a nod he began to make his way to his car. I followed in quick footsteps. My heart raced as I watched him walk in front of me, and another wave of nervousness overtook me. I realized that the bond between us was in many ways virtual, and when reality struck me, I felt like I had to live up to a certain image he had created in his head of me. And of course, he had to live up to my perspective of him. Did we feel the same way?

Like a true gentleman, he opened the door on the right for me, and I was perplexed at first, because I thought he wanted me to drive. Then, I remembered that in Norway the driver's seat is the other way around, and so instantly erupted in laughter.

"What?" he wondered, still holding the door open.

I shrugged it off with a wave of my hand. "Nothing, nothing," I mumbled as I entered the car.

He didn't ask for further explanation. Which was strange, since usually he did it on the phone every time. I suspected that he was just too strained. Meanwhile, he closed the door for me, and jogged to the other side of the car. Soon enough, he was sitting next to me, and with one final look at me, he brought the engine to life. Wordlessly, he pulled the car in reverse and drove out of the building. He made himself appear very focused in the activity. His eyes were narrowed and his face was taut.

It was a few minutes before either of us spoke.

"So," he began slowly, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "Was it a good flight?"

I nodded; grateful he could actually see my irrevocable response for a change. "Good, but tiring."

It was a little over ten in the morning. It was also a Wednesday, so I concluded that he had taken the day off of work. "How did you brother take it?" I asked suddenly, but then added the explanation of: "That I've come to visit you, I mean."

He shook his head a little. "I didn't exactly tell him," he admitted honestly.

"Oh," was all I could utter. He was indeed keeping me a secret, then.

"You don't mind, do you?" he turned to look at me for a moment, and sincere concern was spread over his expression.

I hurried to shake my head no. "No, not at all," I said, although I wasn't very certain of how I felt over the whole thing. I understood that he didn't want to add fuel to the fire, but I couldn't help feeling a little disappointed. A little unimportant...

"Do you really have to go back so soon?"

Although it was spoken in a haste, I had little doubt that it was an impulsive question.

He had bought me an open return ticket, presumably because he hoped I'd change my mind and prolong my stay. Which of course, only managed to add to my confusion. How did he just assume he could keep my presence a secret if I stayed for a longer period of time?

"I have to," I said, a little more sternly than I wanted to. "Touring is a real job, you know."

He sighed. "I didn't mean to imply otherwise," he defended. "I just..." he trailed off.

I took this moment to debate about how to draw this back to what I considered the central question: "Why the hell am I here?" Obviously not the way to phrase it. While I considered openings, he beat me to the punch.

"I just want us to have some time together," he finally finished his sentence. "To see where this thing will go."

 _This thing?_ He answered my unasked question, which of course, raised a more important one: What did he want ' _this thing_ ' to be? And what did _I_  want?

Certainly, while talking to him, I got the feeling like we had known each other forever. The natural and easy flow of conversation between us was unmistakable, and the main reason why we both felt so intrigued by one another. But we were taking this connection between us with an impulsive force, and it was frightening, to say the least. Every relationship I had ever taken part in was with a decided purpose and reasons I knew of.

I didn't say anything, but he must have known I had the same thought in mind.

"Tell me Mary," he suddenly said, snapping me out of my inner debates. He glanced up at me shortly. "How do you feel?"

I stared at him, unblinking. "I, uh... I'm alright." His question had taken me off guard, and I wasn't sure I quite understood it. I frowned slightly.

"I mean," he began, and turned to really look at me this time. "About us."

At last, straight to the point, and the second I heard him say it, I wish these words had never come out of his mouth. No matter how much I’d been over-thinking and wondering again and again, I didn't want to be the one to answer. Therefore, I didn't even try to bring it up, but he on the other hand, must have figured that it'd be easier if he'd be the one to ask. _That smart son of a bitch._

But I was not a person who gave in as easily. I looked at him innocently and tilted my head to the side only barely. "What 'us', Bård?"

"You and me, you know," he explained nonchalantly. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel. Was he nervous? Impatient? I could not interpret with certainty. But he knew I was no fool.

Two could play at this game. "Well, we are here now..."

"Exactly," he confirmed, his eyes never leaving the road. His eyebrows furrowed in brisk tension.

I folded my arms in silence. I had nothing to add. Exactly what he didn't want to happen.

"Oh, come on," he grumbled, irritated. The sudden change in his voice caused me to jump in place for a moment.

"What?"

I wasn't going to allow him to make me be the one to answer this question. It was going to be either him, or we both had to discuss it.

The car's speed was becoming significantly slower, and before I could process it all, Bård had parked as right on the lane as possible, in the middle of the road. He pressed the emergency lights on and turned to face me. His movements were brisk and vigorous.

"What the hell?" I nearly screamed. "Why did you stop?"

He didn't reply. Instead, he grabbed me by the face and pulled me to his lips. The kiss was not sweet, it was fierce and hungry. His lips were tensed around mine, moving slowly but eagerly, while I simply followed his lead and kissed him just as passionately. It came out of nowhere, but I was more than prepared for it. All those hours on the phone, all of those questions in my head... they were all gone in a moment, and I could only think of his warm breath on my skin, of his strong hands that cupped my face, his fingers tangled in my hair. It wasn't a fantasy prompted by a flirtatious tone from a different country, nor was it a dream after a long day spent thinking of him, imagining what it would be like. He was there, playing with my lips, playing with my heart. And I loved it.  
  
Although the passion didn't, we stopped. Bård pulled only an inch away and looked at me. "This 'us', Mary," he whispered gently against my lips.

I ducked forward and stole a sweet, gentle kiss. He prolonged it, but once his tongue found its way to my mouth, I knew it could go no further.

"Bård," I said after pulling away, my eyes locked with his. "We're in the middle of the road," I had to remind him.

His face lit up in a grin and he pecked me once more. Then, instead of getting back to driving, he took hold of both my hands and pressed them to his mouth. His eyes were closed, and I could feel him smile against my skin. "I can't believe you're actually here," he said softly after a short while.

I was speechless. Silently, I closed the gap between us and brushed my lips against his cheek lightly. Then, I whispered in his ear: "My presence will be pointless if this car gets rammed, or worse, if the police comes here. You have to drive, Bård."

He chuckled warmly and before pulling away, he whispered his reply: "I love it when you talk dirty to me, Mary Laine." That husky, sexy tone of his.

After grinning at each other like idiots for some time, he started the car and proceeded to drive us to his house. Comfortable silence filled the air. After all, we had done more than enough talking already.

 


	9. And then...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains explicit sexual descriptions. If you are not of mature age or simply feel uncomfortable reading scenes of the sort, then I suggest you skip to the next chapter; I don't think this one is too relevant to the bigger picture of the plot anyway.

Bård was holding my hand as he led me inside his home through the back door. The logistics behind that route were that it would minimize the opportunity for someone to spot us. Another scandalous photo was least necessary.

He called it his  _house_ , but it was actually a  _mansion -_  in the literal sense of the word. It took us a few minutes to actually get to the living room, which was so much more than that itself. I felt like wandering through a labyrinth of halls and rooms and stairs and for a moment, I considered asking him if he himself knew where we were headed. Which, of course, would have been completely unnecessary, because he obviously did; he lead in front of me in a confident step.

Compared to my tiny apartment back in England, I was experiencing a luxurious tour though a castle. Despite of its impressive size, it was all beautifully decorated in detail, making it even much more difficult to take it all in. Actually, I had never cared about useless "dust collectors" which served merely for decoration purposes, but now I widened my eyes in admiration. The interior was certainly created by an experienced, talented designer, or by the hands of a woman with too much spare time. It became very easy to understand why Margit wasn't giving up their relationship without a vigorous fight. If Bård's love wasn't appreciable, the material side of things was enough to make up for. 

Before we finally reached the living room, I caught a glimpse of a lovely dining room that reflected a style of modern minimalism. However, once we entered our target space, I was fully aware that the design was anything but devoid of Bård's personality. There were eccentric pieces of art combined with a comfortable looking sofa (I caught myself wondering if I had ever seen such a huge piece of furniture—it was enormous!) and chairs, and in one of the walls was centered a huge, luxurious fireplace decorated in impressive detail. A variety of paintings was spread evenly throughout the whole complex. Dominating the whole scene in my perspective, though, was a guitar, far from plastered near the walls, seemingly decorative but all too inviting of an object. I smiled in satisfaction that through all the stylish monuments of a rich man hid a little kid who was a lover of music. Simplistic and without frills.

I kept on looking around, completely flushed. My fleeting impressions of the variety of interests reflected by the decor were abruptly interrupted by Bård's voice, who asked me if I would like something to drink.

I blinked a few times and focused on his voice. "Oh, yes please," I answered happily at his smashing proposal, because a drink was required now more than ever.

I barely fit into this whole scene, and I felt suddenly thankful that no one was aware of my presence. The most obvious thing on the planet was that I in no way belonged here. I felt lost in a weird way, my appearance, my looks were in the acrid contrast of... all of this. It was interesting, however, that Bård seemed to be made for this house and yet he and I got along so well.

"Any preferences?" he awaited my answer as he stood by a door that presumably led to where the drinks were.

I considered his question for a moment. "What have you got to offer?"

He laughed a boyish laugh and raised his eyebrows only slightly. "Ah, um, quite a few things actually," he continued chuckling. "Honestly, I have no idea. Come with me and have your choice," he said, gesturing his hand in means to follow him inside before he disappeared behind the door.

I did as instructed and found myself inside a relatively smaller room, which was indeed a sight of drinks that were abundantly available. As my eyes scanned the impressive variety of options, there was only one bottle I could select as a favorite. I had no dilemmas when it came to a choice of alcohol. "Let's do tequila shots, then," I suggested cheerfully.

Bård's eyebrows flew up high. "At this early hour?" he cross-examined in his innocent bewilderment. 

Oh, I was no good girl, and he was about to find that out. "Why ever not?" I matched the tone of his innocence. Drinking rules had never been my kind of thing, after all.

He shrugged slightly, titling his head downwards, sizing me up as though I was not in my right mind. "I have no idea, really," he told me. I eyed him in a challenging manner, which he took up as expected, looking at me while trying to find an escape route. Eventually, though, after a short reconsideration, he came around with a smirk, saying: "Alright. It could be fun."

I grinned in satisfaction and wiggled my brow playfully. "What? Are you afraid I'll get you drunk, mister? And have you do as I please?"

He smirked, stepped forward, close enough to be able to circle his arms around my waist and pull me to himself. Leaning in close to my ear, I could almost feel his lips brush my cheek, but his warm breath was more than sufficient to send shivers of a crazily strong excitement down my spine. "I do hope you know that I don't need alcohol to do just that," he said in my ear, gently but thrillingly and oh-so-provocatively. Alright, so we weren't going to snoop around the main point any longer. There were no more barriers of any sort, just the two of us and a straight-forward desire. "Your wish is my command, Mary Laine."

That was enough to send my mind into a twirl. Slowly but confidently, I traced kisses all over of what was visible of his flesh before me, until I edged up to the corner of his mouth. He didn't play my game, and instead moved directly to my mouth, dragging me into a well-formed, breathtaking French kiss. His hungry lips moved hastily, and before too long I was plastered against a counter, the very same that had many a bottles standing upon. As Bård leaned into me, the bottles went crashing to the tiles of floor like domino's. It was definitely not a considered eventuality as we gave into the wave of lust.  

If nothing else would have been able to do it, this exceptional consequence of our kiss made sure to interrupt us both and send us into spasms of laughter. We stepped away from one another and the counter itself, carefully avoiding the shredded pieces of glass. I had the intention to apologize, but Bård was having such a blast, holding his stomach while laughing so much. I examined the scenery with my own set of giggles. Only a few bottles remained safely in their place, and I didn't fail to note that. "Oh well, the tequila is still alive," I announced with a wink. 

My utterance made Bård dissolve into another series of chuckles. I began to step over to him in means to hug him and thus to try to calm him down, but somehow while avoiding the broken glass I slipped, but yet still ended up in his arms as though they were the place for me to be.

"Whoa, easy there," he managed to say in between hasty breaths, clutching my wrists and steadying me up. "I need you to survive. Both the tequila and you.”

Of course, after such a statement, we both proceeded to laugh childishly, risking our balance and the tequila's safety quite ironically. We held on to one another until we succeeded to calm down, which indeed took a while. Bård let go of me and grabbed the bottle from my hands, and then assembled two tiny glasses. "Lets get away from this mess," he suggested, still laughing a little while eyeing the countless amount of shredded glass, mixed with various liquor. 

I blinked a few times and took another good look at our surroundings. "But... we ought to clean up first!" To put it mildly, the room looked like an after-sight of a bomb attack.

He waved it off and shook his head, smiling. "The housekeeper will do it later."

Oh, the silliness of my complete ignorance of his lifestyle. As though it was likely for him to keep the house in shot himself. As this realization took over, I shook my head to myself. "Okay," I agreed, and with that, we both walked back to the living room.

Bård placed the two glasses on the coffee table and as he poured the first of our drinks, I sat down on the couch. It was as soft and comfortable as it appeared from the outside. I thought about the amount of money my bottom was parked on while Bård closed the bottle and made his way next to me on the sofa, smiling when our eyes met. He took hold of his glass and handed me mine. As we were about to toast, though, he froze.

"Oh," he said after a sudden thought, "I forgot to chop some lemons. And get some salt," and with that, he began to stand up, but I took him by his arm and stopped him.

"I don't need that," I informed him with a wink.

He looked down at me, astonishment and a hint of amusement sparkling in his eyes. "Really?"

I nodded enthusiastically in response.

He chuckled. "Alright," he prolonged, mildly in disbelief; "But I do!"

Again I stopped him as he started towards the kitchen. "No, you don't," I promised with a challenging wink. "Man up!"

That was all that needed to be said to get to Bård's ego. I might have not known him very well, but for him to hide his own manly pride seemed humanly impossible. "Alright, alright," he gave in, falling back into his seat next to me. 

I held my glass up high. He touched the rim of his to it as though by default. "Bottoms up!" I exclaimed, a little too cheerfully, and downed the shot. He was only a second behind me, doing his best to hasten his gulps in order to catch up. He manned up indeed, but only for a while.

The alcohol barely made me blink, but the look on his face was priceless. His eyes were squeezed shut and a grimace was formed of his beautiful features. Once he recovered, though, he fixed his gaze on me, and saw me watching. My lips were pursed tightly, as I was doing my best not burst into laughter.

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing," I tried to assure him in vain.

"It burns!" he explained, wincing a little.

This time, I didn't withhold my laughter. "Let’s do another one."

Bård's eyes widened and his head snapped forward.  _"Another one?"_  he quoted in a high pitch.

I grinned. I was already pouring the liquid into our empty glasses. "Yeah," I confirmed lightly. 

He didn't say anything, and just took the drink obligingly when I handed it. Without a word, I downed my shot in one gulp, and he followed after a moment. 

"It helps with the burning sensation, doesn't it?" 

His face mimicked the same grimace from before, and he held both thumbs up after he let go of the empty glass. "You bet," he said sarcastically. 

"Oh, come on! The fun is about to begin," I said, hurrying to refill the glasses once more.

"Don't tell me you want another one!" he observed in exclamation, completely baffled.

"Just one more," I promised, giving him yet another shot.

He just stared at it in silence, clenched in his hand. And then at me. And then he shook his head and drank it in one large sip. 

"Good boy," I commented, flushing down my own. His eyes were still fixed on me as I took a few big gulps straight from the bottle before dismissing it closed on the coffee table. 

I looked at him in question once more.

Again, he shook his head. "You're crazy," he concluded, and fell back on the sofa, intertwining his fingers behind his head. I loved the way he pronounced the word 'crazy', with a 's' instead of a 'z'. His Norwegian accent could only be interpreted as sexy.

"Just a little," I confirmed, and turned my body to face him.

He grinned as he observed me, winning all my attention with his piercing blue eyes. "Either that, or you know your tequila," he winked, ever-so-provocatively. _Was it possible to resist this man?_

The alcohol was slowly reaching my head, and I knew that the amount I had taken would only buy me a positively small light-headedness. And so the games were to begin. I titled my head a little and extended my arm forward, all the way to his knee where I left my hand to rest. In between new-formed relationships, there is always a certain limit as to the freedom of physical contact, and I was definitely respecting it. To kiss him out of nowhere would not only breach that limit, but would also suggest I had taken the whole thing too seriously, and that was absolutely what I needed the least. I’d done that mistake once before.  

Bård unfolded his arms in response, and confidently enough, took my hand into his, intertwining our fingers very lightly. I decided that his action made sense, as it was pretty obvious that he did not want to rush into anything either, no matter how much we had the same thing in the back of both our heads. We were both keeping up a certain unspoken deal to try to take each other in, to see how we fit physically next to each other as opposed to the closeness we had formed verbally. But talking felt excessive, or rather an unnecessary addition to what the moment required of us. It was enough to just look at him, as though it would somehow make up for the lack of his physical presence in the previous weeks. I soaked him up. His face, his expression, his breathing. All the things which were missing so badly over the phone. The sight of him there, holding my hand, was indeed what I needed, and as the alcohol swirled my thoughts and dulled my sensitivity to his touch, I felt the need to be a little closer to him, forgetting about all the little rules and limitations.

And so I stood up, and as though he read my mind, he pulled at my arm, bringing me in between his knees. My feet were numb from the alcohol and for a moment I feared that I might trip. His expression was serious as he sat himself up as tall as was possible, drawing his head back in order to maintain eye-contact. His hands found their way to my hips, and all he did was look straight in my eyes. Smiling, I pushed him back playfully, and once he collapsed into the sofa, I moved as I had intended originally, caging him in between my legs as my knees rested on the sofa on both his sides. I sat down on his thighs and his hands moved up to my waist, while mine found their rest on his chest. Slowly, he began with tender whispers of kisses all over my neck, taking his time to move up to my mouth. I followed him kiss for kiss until our lips touched, and then neither of us was following or leading. As his soft lips moved with mine, I felt oblivious to anything apart from him. No thought, no hesitation, just a need to be closer, to let the tip of my tongue touch his lips, to taste him, as he did the same to me.

He tightened his grip on my waist, pulling me a little closer and in response I lightly pressed at his chest. Below my skin, I could feel his heart ponder. Mine paced no less, and for a moment I let myself be amazed by the lack of physical speed that set us both off. 

Time slipped away, and the kisses began to escalate from gentle to hungry, just as they were bound to. His hands traveled to my face, my neck, then slid down the sides of my hips, pulling me even closer, while I locked my arms around his neck, letting myself clung to him, especially as I could feel him grow hard against me. As the urgency in his movements rose, a soft moan escaped my lips, causing him to groan against my mouth in response. He slid one hand to my bottom, grinding me against him, and the other he tangled in my hair. A wave of pleasure overtook me, and it was so much more than what the alcohol made me feel. This feeling was overwhelming. I wanted to thank him, because I felt so very alive and energetic, a reaction merely to his presence and physical contact. 

Another reaction was a lack or air in my lungs. I had to move slightly away in order to catch my breath, a task he was striving to make even more difficult by moving back to my neck, nipping lightly at my skin in between kisses. _Oh boy, was he more than I could handle._ Freakishly, unbelievingly more. Another moan evaporated from me, the extreme satisfaction pulling the better out of me.

"Do you like that, Mary?" he breathed hoarsely against my skin, and all I could do was sigh.  _Mary_. Not babe, or sugar, or sweetheart, or sexy, or baby... neither of the countless nicknames I'd ever been called by men. Just  _Mary_. To him I was myself, and not a conquest, nor a partner in passion. Just  _Mary_ , exactly what I needed to be. What I wanted to be.

My hands moved to cup his cheeks, bringing his head to face me, as strands of his hair tickled my fingers. "I like  _you_ ," I whispered the truth, the only words that were able to express the depths of how I felt. I didn't like his kisses, I liked  _him_  kissing me, and his touch brought me so much satisfaction not only because he knew how to please me, but because it was  _him, Bård,_  whom I shared the pleasure with.  _He_  was the source of my excitement, only  _him_  as  _he_  did to me what many a men had done before. But the difference in the matter was oh so very significant.

As our eyes met and our breaths mingled, our gaze became one and I knew he understood me correctly.

"I like  _you_  as well," he whispered, ever-so-softly, and I melted by his words. Words that would have been sufficient for such a reaction even over a goddamn phone.  _Hearing_  him say what he felt was enough, and although it was a concept already familiar to me, it was one that I longed for in a long time without even realizing properly.

Our lips met again in a soft, long kiss that was somehow more urgent and intimate from all the kisses we had shared before. Albeit there weren't a lot of them in count, it was a worthy comparison.

He held me in a position that would allow him to lift me up as he stood to his feet, and he did so without breaking our kiss. I let my feet drop to the ground, feeling a little dizzy, a condition that surely had nothing to do with the tequila I had consumed earlier. This frenzy was way more captivating and overtaking. I was drunk from him, his nearness... In unison, our lips moved in the slowest of motion, and he had both of his hands clutching at my head, while I locked my arms around his waist, pulling him to me so our bodies could fit like two matching puzzle pieces.

How the hell we found each other remained the unsolved, random mystery in the back of my mind. 

Everything was so smooth, so perfect.

When we pulled away to share yet another look, my body trembled like a teenager's would when she'd experience her first kiss. In fact, kissing Bård was a first kiss in its own way indeed. Everything was as though I was living in a dream, feeling and seeing my fantasies building up and coming to life.

Silently, Bård's hands moved and found mine to link with, and once he established the required connection, he started to step away, leading me to a place I was yet to discover in his palace. It wasn't a long trip this time, but it was a trip to a scene where I would savor every moment to come—his bedroom.

We stopped to stand before his bed, so large and unmade, and found our way back into each other's arms. Without wasting a moment, he began to kiss me once more, with hunger I could only return. He laid me down to the soft surface of the mattress, so gently and carefully that I barely noticed with my eyes closed and head fuzzy. Once I took the change of position in, I didn't wait to reach for his shirt, tugging it out of his jeans. He sat up and peeled it off, and then came back to stretch on top of me, completely covering my body with his. The feel of his bare skin below my hands drove me crazy. Any lingering self-consciousness melted away, and I felt my body lifting to meet him, wanting to be closer and still closer. I kissed him over and over, my lips burning with desire as though they'd been somehow bruised, without caring about it, only feeling like I couldn't get enough. In no time I was making that sound again, moaning softly, breathing in little gasps.

His kisses changed again. Softer, less demanding, as if he were intentionally slowing things down to make this moment last even longer. Frantic lust gave way to tingling, sweet desire. My body relaxed in response, my lungs finally able to catch some air. Able to think at least hazy thoughts again, I found myself smiling up at him in pure happiness. He grinned back as he watched me, with simple joy we both shared by being here, together. Not over the phone. He rolled over, pulling me on top of him, never breaking eye contact. 

He hugged me tight to him, and we suddenly fell serious again, but I never stopped looking at him. Neither did he. He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. Then, his hands began to move over my back, my bottom, caressing me, pulling me even tighter, all the while watching me react. Blocking all visuals, I closed my eyes and just let the touch of his hands send shivers all through me. It felt like every nerve ending in my body was screaming to be touched, touched in his little airy way that was so very special. 

Break time was over. I wanted—no, _needed_ —more kisses, more of everything.

Ducking forward to meet his lips again, capturing them with mine, I felt so sensitive and eager to feel more of him. I wound the fingers of one hand through his silky hair, loving the sensation immensely. My other hand was tracing his rib cage, working its way down, and ridiculously becoming frustrated by encountering his jeans, with the thick layers of his pockets, but finding something so enticing about the muscles of his thigh. Although it was an exciting feeling, my body had other ideas. It knew exactly what it wanted and how to get it, and I wasn't waiting for my mind to catch up. My fingers found their way to the hard bulge in his jeans, and I felt the satisfaction of being the one who had caused it. I could not help but smile slightly against his mouth. 

I heard him exhale softly, the grip of his hands tightening upon me, demanding for more. And more was what I wanted as well. He started to tug at my shirt, slipping his hands to touch my bare skin, sending electric shocks all over my body. I helped him ease me out of the piece of clothing, and he didn't wait to touch my breasts, and even sooner than that he got rid of my bra. Stopping to look at me, he exhaled another sigh, before moving to kiss my collar bone while his hands played tricks on my nipples. 

As his hands touched and stroked, I felt an intense wave flow through me, a wave that carried me across the gap between desire and need even further. I closed my eyes and put my hands at his bare, warm chest, feeling the rhythm of his heart that was merely a result of lust. My body began to rock against him on its own, and I stopped thinking, just feeling, moving faster, intensely aware of the heat that was building. His hands left my breasts and they ached to be touched, but he moved on to my hips, hastening my speed, turning the heat to fire. 

His chest was so warm against my exposed skin, and his mouth was searching for mine with a desperate emphasis. We met in a yet another hungry, breathless demand that was way beyond a kiss. We were back to frantic lust and as he pressed on my bottom, I felt us both fight for air of the—literally—breathtaking sensations. Suddenly he groaned and, taking me with him, he rolled over on his side. He still held me close, but it had stopped the momentum cold. He buried his face into my neck, and at the moment, all I could wonder was if I had done something wrong. I found myself at a loss of words as his breathing was becoming more even by the second.  _Why the hell did he stop?_

"Easy there," he whispered in reply to my mute question. "We have time."

The worry left my system and was quickly replaced by satisfaction that I was getting him ready just as easily as that. In truth, I was no better myself.

"There's this tiny problem... I just want you too bad," he explained after a moment, an explanation that sent a wave of pleasure on its own.

I didn't say anything, just found his mouth to kiss him gently, trying to savor the moment as much as he did. It was such a special feeling. When his hand moved below my waist, oh so suddenly, I caught my breath as I didn't expect it. He traced his fingers just below my abdomen, a touch that was so intimate even over the thick layer of jeans I wore. I wasn't afraid to be touched—in fact, I needed it desperately. He undid the button of my jeans in a single, quick movement, and I became afraid that desire was about to override what little was left of my thought process. Eventually, I concluded I wouldn't mind at all.

As his fingers found their way to the area that screamed to be touched, I broke away from the kiss and tilted my head back in pleasure, small gasps escaping my lips.

He made a sound, a sigh as his fingers began to play with me, murmuring a soft, quiet "oh yes" in the process. I grinned involuntarily at his exclamation that somehow spoke not only of pleasure, but of success. Anticipated victory. His fingers stroked me, sending electric shocks to the bottom of my feet. As I began to near ecstasy, I knew I had to stop him; _we were doing this together_. I wanted to touch him the way he touched me, to cause the exact same amount of mind-blowing pleasure at the same time.

I pulled his hand away, stopping him, and hastened to remove my jeans in a slick movement. He didn't seem confused, just mirrored my action, and after a short, comfortable pause, we were both naked, lying next to each other, locking our eyes together in an intimate glance. He stopped to take a good look at me, while tracing his fingers lightly over my body, as though it would help him absorb every curve all the more. 

Wordlessly, Bård moved on top of me, his lips ending up on mine, his hands on both sides next to my waist. In one fluid movement, he slid one of his legs between mine, gently urging them apart.

My fingers finally found their way to his bare hardness, and I sighed at how perfectly he fit into my hand. Stoking him slowly, I knew I was returning his favor from before, and enjoying every moment of it myself. My intense caresses didn't last too long. After a short while, he removed my hand, and before I had a chance to get confused, he positioned himself so a small, tiny movement would make us become one.

And it did.

He began moving inside me, slowly at first, his mouth kissing my neck in a matching speed. I sighed as I felt his excitement, his need growing, and I was right there with him, building to the peak ever too quickly and felt the waves of pleasure overwhelm me. No matter how much we were trying to slow things down, the pent up lust, the desire was stronger than us and we both needed the get there, together. But more than anything, I felt the whole process more emotional than physical, and that was enough to send me to ecstasy in only minutes. He wasn't behind me by any means, in fact he breathed even faster than me, suppressing any sound against my skin, and it was the last of what was required to cause millions of sparkles to explode all over my body.

I felt the weight of his body upon me, his breathing fighting to find control as he recovered from the immense pleasure himself. Had I been able to breathe myself, I would have smiled out of pure joy, joy of having done this with him, together in every sense of the word. But all of what I was capable of was to press him against my upper body to prolong this intimate moment.

After a minute or so, he lifted up only slightly, catching my eye, and I saw the sparkles in his. "You are..." he paused, in search for the proper word. "Incredible," he finally finished, and I ducked forward to peck him lightly.

Our bodies parted and he moved to lay next to me. I rolled to my side to mirror his position, and for a while, we took up a staring contest. But the distance became too much, and soon enough, I ended up in his arms again, only in a sweet cuddle this time around. I hadn't cuddled in years. It wasn't my thing; I knew my quick way to satisfaction and it was all that I needed to be happy. But not anymore. Now, this felt so real and normal. He held me tight, as though he had not only waited just the last few weeks for me, but a longer time than that.

That was only a sudden thought that hit me out of nowhere, and it was probably a reflection of how I actually felt, or how I wanted him to feel. I was reminded again of the strong connection I felt between us, now more than ever, and I couldn't help but smile to myself, but also wonder if I was right to think that way. I didn't ask or imply anything of the sort, just enjoyed the feel of his arms around me, so perfect, so inviting. 

After a while of that, I needed a cigarette, as the effects of the alcohol were long gone and forgotten. I tensed, in the intention to get up, but Bård pulled at my arm. "Where are you going?" he asked me with questioning eyes, his first words in a while.

I smiled back at him. "To fetch my bag," I told him. "I need a ciggie."

"Alright," he said after a few seconds of contemplating my reply and let go of me.

I walked around the bed, but stopped standing, as I remembered that he was a non-smoker. "You don't mind, do you?" somehow, I remembered to ask. “Should I go outside or something?”

He shook his head in a fast, determining motion. "You can smoke here as long as you come back quickly," he added with a wink.

I smiled at his boyishness. 

I began to make my way to where I had left my bag in the living room earlier, which fortunately wasn't too difficult to locate as it was just across the hall. I pulled my pack and lighter out and hurried back to the bedroom, completely naked. I stopped at the frame of the door, leaning against it, letting Bård watch and enjoy. I lit a cigarette right there, and then walked back over to him in the slowest of motions. Once I took a seat on his bed, I located my underwear and put it on with one hand, before turning to ask him, "Do you have an ashtray?" 

He shook his head no as his eyes dargestellt across the room. "I'll go and get one," he told me, and after he slipped into his boxers, he walked out of the room.

He was back within a minute, carrying the object I had asked for.

"Thanks."

He smiled in reply, leaning in to peck my temple. Sitting next to me, he wrapped his arms around me, resting his chin on my shoulder. "I am so happy you are here, finally," he said gently after a few moments of comfortable silence.

"Me too," I replied, matching the tone of his voice.

Sighing, he left a kiss on my neck. "It feels so good to have in my arms at last."

I found myself melting at his words again, feeling happier than ever. My head leaned onto his. I completely agreed, although I didn't say so. "Would you mind if I took a shower?" I asked him instead.

"Not really," he said in a provocative tone. "If I could join you, of course."

There was nothing I wanted more. 


	10. A Pizza

It was a chilly afternoon—I shivered as I sat on one of the luxurious set of chairs on Bård’s balcony. Going outside barely dressed in a long shirt was not the best idea. Nevertheless, I remained sitting where I was, taking my second dose of nicotine for last ten minutes. Through the open glass door I could hear the muffled sounds of Bård’s telephone conversation and although I didn’t understand a word of Norwegian, it was clear that he was having somewhat of an angry dialogue. I could clearly hear that he did not hesitate to cut whoever he was talking to off, to get his angry words through, but was also interrupted himself. I knew that, because he sighed. He always sighed when he wasn’t allowed to finish. Our getting-to-know one another though the numerous phone calls had its many perks. I could not help but smile. It meant that he was not feigned towards me in any way and therefore I was happy.

 When I announced that I was headed for a smoke, he said he’d join me in a few moments, but he wanted to make a quick phone call to work first. When those few moments proved themselves to be longer than I had imagined, I began to worry. My foot started to tap nervously on its own, and as I took the last drag of my cigarette, a thought of concern—that I had caused trouble—overtook my head. I was hoping that everything was fine. Bård sighed a bit too often for my taste.

Before my inner debates could wander deeper into sections of uneasy apprehensions, Bård ended his call—rather abruptly too, as I gathered from my interpretation of his tonality—and made his way to take a seat next to me. I greeted him with a smile, one he warmly returned, although its effect was limited to his mouth and didn’t quite reach the rest of his features. His tensed forehead definitely told a different story than his lips.

I tried my best to lock my eyes with his, but he did a very good job at avoiding my gaze. I sighed only barely, noting that Bård was indeed a tough shell to crack when it came to displaying feelings. At the very least, that was the picture he wanted painted of himself. His hand rested on the back of the chair next to mine, his index fingers tapping in irregular intervals. My hand traveled to cup his, and with a fluttering look I asked: “Is everything alright?”

He replied a little too quickly. “Yeah, yeah, it’s… everything’s fine.”

With one glance at me, though, he saw it very well that I would not allow him to shrug it off as easily. I observed him closely as he struggled to form a more suitable explanation.

“It’s just,” he finally began, giving me a brisk squint, “my brother can be a bit too much sometimes.”

This answer made my eyebrows flex; I widened my eyes a little. “A bit too much?” I quoted in question, urging him to go on. From the little I knew of their relationship, they got along abnormally well.

Bård exhaled heavily. He moved his hand in order or intertwine our fingers, and gave my hand a gentle squeeze. This little motion sent me smiling; the way this little intimate gesture felt so normal and essential was in many ways incredible. “He’s just a little upset that I decided to take a short vacation two weeks prior our show’s first broadcast this season. What he doesn’t understand is that I deserve a break.”

Although we hadn’t talked about it, I instantly concluded that he had not intended to appear at work at all during my stay. The very thought of it was flattering and endearing, and actually to a level that sent my stomach into silly twists, all the while a heat within me arose, travelling all the way to my cheeks. At that point, I really hoped that my hair was messy enough to conceal my reddened face.

But more than all I knew that it was my cue to say the right thing. “You don’t have to stay off from work for me. Really, I don’t mind,” but with that it was myself I was trying to convince, at least more so than him for the matter. “I mean, I could sleep while you work. I’ll be fine, I’m a big girl.”

Suddenly, his face began to light up and he finally met my gaze as he deciphered my words. He laughed in delight. “And keep me up all night long instead?”

I wiggled my eyebrows playfully and gave him a wink. “Why, of course.”

“It does sound like a good plan,” he confirmed as he moved a little closer to me, his warm breath buzzing near my face. “Well, except for a small detail, of course.”

I shot him another questioning look, unable to do much else than stare at the newly lit glint of happiness in his eyes.

“I also do have to sleep, you know,” he informed me rather casually, the tone of his voice calm and low. Slowly, he ducked forward to meet me in a soft, light peck, one that did in no way satisfy me. Before he could pull any further away, in a hasty movement I grabbed the back of his head and captured his lips with mine, deepening the kiss to a level I was happy with. I could feel him smile at my need for this connection.

But, before we could get too carried away with it, I pulled away as we had a conversation to finish.

“That was all the convincing I needed,” he whispered hoarsely as we looked at each other. “I’m definitely not going back to work”; a decision quite contrary to what I had suggested. “Vegard’s gonna have to survive without me for a few days. He has to understand that I need some time off to mind my own business.” Playfully, he tapped the tip of my nose.

Nevertheless, I was perfectly satisfied. I was going to stay for only two more days, after all; I had to fly back on Saturday. With the little amount of time we had to spend together, it was only reasonable that we didn’t have any other distractions along the way. I understood it perfectly well that Bård was a busy man. From what he had disclosed of his tight schedule and tiring preparations, hosting a TV show seemed like a business that was no piece of cake. But it was only two days in question, after all, and work definitely felt like a distraction at the time being.

“He’s gonna have to,” I confirmed flirtatiously. “Because I’m not.”

“You’re not what? What happened to my big girl?” he teased. The air between us mixed of wit and a jolt of tension rose.

“Oh, you dumbass. Survive without you!” I slapped his shoulder jokingly, to which he laughed and came up close to my face.

“I know Mary Laine, I know.”

Of course, that statement was begging for yet another kiss, one Bård was more than willing to deliver. And boy, he did it so well.

Ending up back in bed felt like the easiest, most natural thing on the planet. This time around, we didn’t stop each other from speeding things up, and therefore brought ourselves to ecstasy in nearly no time at all. He was a great lover, that's for sure. But the part where I rested on his bare chest, feeling his heart pound against my skin—it was definitely my favorite moment, a moment I wanted to freeze and live through forever. And that was such an impulsive thought, such an impetuous wish that it amazed me that I was able to feel that way at all.

Bård was quiet and I could not help but ponder over what was going through his head. His fingers played with my hair ever-so-lightly and his breathing evened with each new moment, but he didn’t say a word and that was enough to send my mind into twirls. My fingers traced paths down his torso unconsciously and once they travelled all the way to his neck, I felt his hand lifting up my chin, and once our faces met he gave me a very loving, gentle kiss. _What was going through his head at that moment, goddamn it!?_

I smiled when I pulled away. My thoughts went through the now usual dilemmas and no matter how much I wanted to just relax and enjoy the moment, something within me wasn’t allowing me. I was becoming a cautious person, considerately more so than I had ever been, and I absolutely hated the fact that I couldn’t control this musing. Sighing feverishly at my thoughts, I swiftly stood up in a smooth movement, my feet greeting the ground rather steadily.

Bård’s gaze followed me and he looked quite perplexed about the fact that I got up so suddenly and silently. “I’ll be right back,” I answered his mute question before he had a chance to say a word, and quickly disappeared from his room.

The way to the living room was now familiar. The bottle of tequila was exactly where we had left to stand earlier, looking quite dashing and inviting. With a few big steps my hand was reunited with it, and I removed the cap in a brisk motion. Before I set the bottle to my lips, I inhaled its intoxicating scent first, then spun around as I took my first gulp. I danced my way to the window, grinning like an idiot, deeply happy to be where I was.

The one thing that was inedible was my pondering mind, a problem that the bottle in my hand promised to remove. I looked outside and took in the world before me, astoundingly real. This wasn’t a dream, nor a fantasy. I was right here in Norway, and Bård Ylvisåker was waiting for me in the room across the hall, wearing nothing but his desire to have me in his arms.

With a light step I made my way back to him. He had not moved a bit; he was spread across the bed in a comfortable, relaxed position. Confusion etched on his brow. But when his eyes remarked my new accessory, he dissolved into understanding.

“You do like your tequila, don’t you?” His words were teasing, but something was off in his tone.

I danced my way back in his arms, swinging the bottle in a position that would provide me a few very large gulps.

To answer his question, in all honesty I would have to admit that there were other substances that I preferred a whole lot more than this certain type of alcohol, drugs I had no access to at the present moment. The small amount of cocaine I risked to bring along, safely disguised as make-up powder, rested in the only large bag I brought. But I was saving that for later. Even though I could already feel the lack of the drug in my system wearing me out, I relied on the tequila to bring to ease my mind for at least a little while. I had to be at least economic.

“I just like to have fun, that’s all” I acknowledged after another sip, handing him the bottle which he neatly took hold of and placed on his nightstand, rather than joining me in a drink.

His arms circled me and he sat up a little. “I can be fun,” he proclaimed a little too seriously, pulling me close and burying his lips in my neck. I giggled, partially because he was tickling me unconsciously, and partially because of his ego that felt wounded as easily and pointlessly. 

“I never said you weren’t,” I assured. I turned towards him and gave him a kiss. “But even a pizza is more delicious with toppings, you know.”

He chuckled shortly, his hands travelling to my breasts, cupping them both. “You’ve got all the toppings I need, Mary Laine,” he informed me, attaining a serious expression that could only be described as see-through.

I spun my head around to give him yet another kiss, this time biting at his lip only faintly.

“Has the talk of pizza made you hungry as well?” he asked me, amused.

I hadn’t thought about food at all, actually. I rarely ever did. My stomach was always saved to digest different substances I was much more fond off. Or at this point, Bård was indeed my only hunger. “I don’t need any food right now,” I admitted honestly.

He laughed lightly. “Oh well, I’m starving. Are you sure you don’t want to join me? We could just order pizza.”

“Ordered pizza?” I asked as my mind rolled through the memory of me throwing my guts out in the van when the band got some take away food. My stomach voiced unpleasantly at the very idea.

“What? Can you actually make some instead?” he inquired challengingly.

I blurted out a slightly sarcastic laugh. “Uh, well, let’s see…” I wiggled my brows and pressed a finger to my mouth. I took my time to fake consideration, although the answer was more than obvious. “No, I definitely cannot cook.”

“What do you eat, then?” he sounded almost shocked. He turned his torso a little more towards me, brushing the hair away from my face in the meanwhile. “You don’t order food and you don’t cook. Is there another option left that I’m not aware of?”

Another snort escaped my lips; it felt ridiculous that he focused so much on such a plain subject. “I eat… whatever, whenever.”

He sized me up before he talked. “Now that we’ve had this conversation, I’m starting to think you don’t eat all. Just look at you!”

I feigned to hide my surprise. “What do you mean?”

“You’re skin and bones!” he exclaimed, poking me in the ribs playfully.

“No, I’m not!” I defended uselessly and jumped to my feet to explore my body in the huge mirror he owned. I could see he had a point, I noted as I watched my reflection. I had indeed lost at least five kilos since the last time I’d taken a good look at myself, but that was only due to all the touring and the associated stress. Somehow, Bård’s words sounded like an accusation of a sort. Yes, I was indeed very skinny, but that was attractive nowadays, right? It had nothing to do with my lifestyle, with all the drugs… _no, Bård didn’t say anything of the sort,_ I thought, and with that extinguished the arising alarm that lit inside me. I hated the need to defend my usage.

Bård stood up and walked to me, then hugged me from behind. “You’re beautiful, Mary,” he assured me calmly, his expression very serious. “Absolutely stunning. But let’s make some pizza and try to fill those lovely curves of yours.”

I rolled my eyes at his last words. “I told you I can’t cook,” I reminded him.

He smiled. “I’m a master in the kitchen,” he shot me a wink, one I captured from the mirror.

And thus we located ourselves in the kitchen. I pointedly brought the tequila along.

All dressed and partially covered in flour, Bård and I were working on his masterpiece of food. As the shape of his dough looked like anything but a circle as it ought to have, I glared at him, tutting in a chain of judgmental blinks.

“What?”

I didn’t give a reply, instead just shot a look at the white, messy counter where his hands rested. I tried my best to suppress laughter.

“What?” he repeated, faking innocence.

 _“A master in the kitchen?”_ I cited his previous words quite sarcastically in question.

He chuckled whole-heartedly as he wrapped his messy, white arms around me, pressing our bodies together. He traced his lips all over my collar bone, softly nipping at my skin, making me completely trail off our conversation and give in into the feeling of him instead. “I did say I was a master in the kitchen, but I never said I was a good cook,” he said once he found his way to my ear, his tongue touching my skin right below it.

“You’re hilarious,” were my sardonic words, but a small little sound evaporated from my lips as he bit on my bare shoulder.

He pulled away and faced me. “I wouldn’t go as far as hilarious,” he acted out melodramatically, “but I must admit I’m funny.”

“Your pizza is funny.”

He eased his arms away from me, folding them at his chest. “Let me see you do a better job, then.”

“Oh, I can’t, even if I tried,” I confessed despite his challenging tone.

He eyed me pointedly, and then peeked at our messy surroundings from the corner of his eye. “I give up as well,” he resigned, defeated. “Let’s just take another shower and order some food. It doesn’t have to be pizza,” his tone was almost pleading. Right on cue, his stomach grumbled and he faked a pout very sweetly.

Rolling my eyes, I said: “Alright, we can do this.”

He snickered, and before I had a chance to do anything whatsoever, I felt and handful of flour being poured all over my head. I froze instantly and just stared at him blankly. Getting a hold of the dough he worked on, I made sure to keep eye contact. “You will regret this, Bård.”

“I wi—“

And then a large piece of unmade pizza landed on his face.

“Fuck!” I heard him curse from below it as his fingers tried to remove it. I smiled involuntarily, his Norwegian accent getting the better out of me.

Before he could do so, I grabbed the tequila bottle and made a run for it. Once I reached Bård’s bedroom, I collapsed on the floor in laughter. I knew I would pay for my actions once he found me, but I had a feeling that was exactly what I wanted. To decrease my punishment, I disposed of my clothes in the quickest of manners and hurried my way to the shower, all the while, of course, taking a few good sips of my drink. A few very good and long sips to be sure.

The water was already running when Bård rejoined me. I didn’t notice him walk in at all, actually, he made me jump a little once I felt his velvety touch on my shoulders.

“You are a bad girl,” he concluded as he spun me around to greet me in a hug. “A _very_ bad girl.”

“Hey,” I spoke up, making sure he looked straight in my eyes. My vision was blurry only slightly, but the light-headedness was a factor that could not be ignored. “I’ve got self-defense to vouch for me.”

He had no reply, instead he pushed me forward, gluing me to the wall of tiles. Warm water cascaded over our heads, but it was nothing compared to his hot breath that met me in a breathtaking French kiss. My body ached for more. But the only physical contact that followed were his fingers shampooing my hair as though I was a little child. He was so patient and gentle, I just closed my eyes and gave myself completely into the moment. Not even the origin of the female hair products in his shower bothered me at that point. Just his fingers massaging my skull, making me feel somehow less lonely in my life in an odd way.

Pulling away he stood looking at me as he took the soap and lathered it between his hands.  Replacing the soap in the dish, he gently turned me around and began to slowly massage the bubbles all over my upper body, running feather-light touches around my nipples, and down between the legs, keeping his movements slow and sensuous. Making me breathe harder. Picking up the soap again, he repeated a similar ritual as he turned me back around to face him, massaging the scented lather onto my back and bottom, all the while wordlessly keeping his eyes locked on mine. Retrieving the soap a third time, he crouched and lathered each of my legs and feet, sliding his hands up my body as he rose.  Taking me into his arms again, he kissed me tenderly. Our bodies sliding against one another created an incredibly erotic sensation that had us both in an increasing state of arousal. 

Slowly breaking the kiss, Bård reached over and picked up the bar of soap, offering it to me with a brow raised in invitation. I was so vanished in the sensation of the moment that I’d lost a touch of reality; a result both to his hands all over me and the alcohol within me. I wasn’t sure which one had the more intoxicating effect on me. Taking the soap from his hand, I built up a lather between my hands and followed his example… starting with his neck, over his chest, and down his abdomen. He stopped me right there, grabbing my wrists and pulling me into an overtaking kiss. We were lost in each other as the shower rinsed us off in its own accord.  

In fact, we were so lost that we barely heard the doorbell. Actually, I didn’t hear it at all, but Bård certainly did, for he jumped out the shower in such a speed that it took me a while to register what was happening.

“Someone’s at the door,” he explained in a voice slightly panicked. 

“Oh,” was all I could utter.

“I’ll… I’ll go and see how it is,” he continued, trying his best to sound casual, as he hurriedly towel-dried his body and then wrapped another dry towel around his hips. “Stay here,” he half-commanded before exciting the bathroom in an impressive speed.

Confused was only an understatement to how I felt. Indeed, I felt wounded and naked, exposed—right there in spite of my physical state to add to the irony. Was he really so determined to hide me? From whom, actually?

Despite Bård’s instructions, I grabbed a towel of my own, and wrapping it around my body, I headed to his bedroom. I assumed it was a safe guess that he would not bring in any guests over there. But boy, was I wrong.

Right there stood Bård, and a man I recognized very well.

“Hva i helvete er dette?” were Vegard’s words as he widened his eyes in disbelief.

And then another man appeared, delivering Chinese food.

My jaw dropped in surprise at the sight of the three men. And so did my towel.

 


	11. Medicine

Embarrassment flushed my cheeks crimson as I clutched the towel tightly to my chest, hidden behind the closed door of Bård’s bathroom. After I inconveniently ended up naked in front of Vegard and a random delivery men, the one thing that flashed my mind was to hide. And that’s exactly what I did, quite rapidly so. Sliding on the door before sitting down on the cold floor, I shut my eyes tightly as though it would somehow take me to a place far away from my humiliation. But that’s not how things work, unfortunately.

Instead, Bård knocked repeatedly on the door as a constant reminder of what had just happened. “Mary,” he was saying, “please come out.”

“No,” I whined behind the door. _It did not just happen… just my goddamn luck._

Despite the hurt I felt over Bård’s attempts to keep me a secret, I still understood his motives. My heart sunk at the very idea, which was out of my control of course, but a part of me agreed completely. His intentions were to a level rational and coherent, at very least acceptable for me. I could understand that he didn’t want a bigger mess. I could understand that maybe this thing between was very temporary and could only do harm in the long run. Guilt stung me as I realized I might have just made things a lot worse for his situation. For Vegard to see me in Norway was one scandalous eventuality, but to find me naked in Bård’s house was much worse on so many levels.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I kept murmuring to myself repetitively.

“Mary,” Bård tried again, quite calmly, but with an imploring tone that couldn’t be ignored. “It’s alright. You have nothing to be ashamed of.” I could swear I heard someone snicker on his side of the door and I was quite certain it did not come from the man who was talking to me. “Just come out so we could all talk.”

 _Talk about what?_ I bitterly thought. _About the way you convinced me to come all the way to Norway only to hide me from everyone, including your precious brother? And that you planned all that so badly that he conveniently managed to show up to find us naked in your fucking bedroom?_

I let out a long, heavy sigh.

“Mary,” pleaded Bård again, “I’m sorry. Just come out so we could talk… please.”

One thing was clear: he had no intention to give up. I knew I had to surrender, sooner or later. To remain in his bathroom whole day long was not only a ridiculous option, but a complete waste of time all the same. Cursing the situation under my breath, I gave up on my stubbornness. “I’ll be out in a minute, okay?”

There was a tiny moment of silence.

“Okay,” replied Bård softly.

I stood up in a determined motion. The sooner I faced the situation, the sooner it would be over. I caught myself suddenly wishing I had never met this Norwegian man. I had been doing fine on my own, hadn’t I? Then along came he, turning my whole world upside down with a snap of his fingers. From my mixed emotions to his messy relationship, it was all the drama I’d been avoiding my entire life.

With a few steps I ended up in front of a mirror. My severely disordered, wet blonde hair was an acrid contract to my face that somehow still kept a distinctive shade of red. I sighed at my reflection, completely dissatisfied. Without further thought, I decided to get dressed, which was an action that of course was a little more problematic than it should have been. My clothes were disposed all over the floor in the room where the brothers now talked—I could hear the muffled sounds of their somewhat angry discussion—and I couldn’t very well walk back in there wearing the piece of texture that failed to cover me up once before. On the mirror I spotted Bård’s shirt with a smile. After thoroughly towel-drying up, I slid into it blithely, pointedly turning back to face my reflection.

Frowning upon it felt unavoidable. The shirt reached my thighs highway and I didn’t evade to recognize Bård’s words from before. _Skin and bones_. A recollection that I’d ever been in a worse shape I couldn’t grasp. Had my musician’s career really done this to me? Once I was the average girl, and although I’d never possessed a body to be envied, I was at the very least normal-looking. And although I had never taken much notice of my appearance, I couldn’t help but wonder what it was that a man like Bård saw in me at all.

The universal truth that for two people to be attracted as easily to one another includes the factor of physical appeal. But had I indeed allured this man from the first sight as he had me? That was hard to believe. Perhaps it indeed was the idea of creating a duet that brought him to me that night in the first place. Perhaps my music really had got to him as much as he claimed. Or perhaps it wasn’t me that he was so into, but more the idea of me... the person I could be. Or maybe even once was. The past few years had unquestionably done a change to me.

There was not much I could alter right then and there. Wallowing in self-pity wouldn’t help me at all. It’s funny, though, how we’re sometimes aware of exactly what needs to bear modification but when it comes to practice, we effortlessly forget it all. I’d simply had to work on that when time to myself would overburden me once again. A change had to be done, and it had to be done well.

So with one final glance at myself, I turned back to enter to world of reality. Turning the doorknob in a slippery action was not a result to my previous shower, but to my nervousness. My sweaty palms told their own stories while I stabilized my face to an expression of indifference.

The brothers were so committed to their quarrel that they didn’t even remark my presence for a good few seconds.

“Mary!” exclaimed Bård once finally he saw me standing there; fury was only barely distinguished in his features. “Perfect timing! Would you be kind enough to clarify to my brother that we are not plotting a strategy to completely ruin Margit’s life?” His voice resonated a frequency I had not yet encountered; with his furrowed brows and nearly desperate tone, I could barely recognize him.

“What?” I squeaked, quite taken aback by this ghastly question.

“I did not say—“ interjected Vegard, but was cut off.

“Oh, you said it well!” snapped Bård before uttering a few quick, angry words in Norwegian. He then turned to me. “See, Mary, my brother is under the impression that you are here to purposely mess my life up.”

My jaw dropped and eyes widened in the matter of a split second. “ _What_?” I repeated, even more bewildered this time around.

Vegard spoke up again, shouting something at his brother in their language. Only momentarily he glanced up upon me, sizing me up from head to toe. They were bickering again, and with each moment I became more frustrated.

What was that about me plotting to destroy Bård’s relationship? Ruin his life? _What the hell were they on about?_ My insides trembled at the realization that it was exactly what the people here thought. The fact that the brothers yelled at each other in Norwegian only made me more furious.

“Do I need to remind you that I can’t understand a fucking word you say?” I tried to outshout them. “Or should I just step aside and let the two of you finish this up? My presence here is pointless!”

They both paused instantly, Bård sending me an apologetic look. ****

“I’m sorry, Mary,” he uttered, but something from behind him distracted me. Just then I took notice of the delivery man who was still positioned at the door, seemingly unmoved by an inch from before, holding onto our food.

“And what the hell is he still doing here?” I asked sheepishly, pointing to the man.

Bård turned to him with a look as though he had completely forgotten of his presence. He actually held a wallet in his hands which was the clearest explanation of how involved he had gotten into the argument. Or rather, committed to it to a level that made him ignorant of a witness to the whole situation. And so only a moment later, he hurried over to the delivery man and Vegard made his way to me.

“I didn’t say any of that,” he started to tell me, his arms folded awkwardly at his chest. A few dark locks had found their way to his face, but didn’t seem to bother him. His eyes sparked an emotion I could not interpret. “Bård is just exaggerating.”

I shot him a glance of annoyance, returning him the head-to-toe from before. Unlike his brother and me, he was dressed appropriately in black jeans and a navy sweater. Looking back up, I fixed my eyes with his. “What did you say, then?” I challenged evenly. For more credibility, I braced my hands on my hips.

He blinked a couple of times in silence, as though he was carefully considering his words. “Well,” he began, but then paused, prepensely avoiding my gaze. “What I said is that _he_ messed up his relationship. I never said it was your fault,” finally he finished, meeting my eye with a thin smile.

“Oh,” was all I could mutter.

“But let me just ask you one thing,” he said, gazing upon Bård who was still chatting up the delivery man.

“Yeah?”

He gulped before sucking in a large breath. “Why… What are you doing here exactly?”

I opened my mouth to snap a quick comeback, but no words escaped me. I just stared at him, my jaw ridiculously dropped, doubting the seriousness of his question. But he did nothing, instead just returned my gaze, awaiting my answer with slightly raised brows.

“Well,” I started, still unable to locate a suitable reply.

To my luck, Bård chose this exact moment to barge in, a little out of breath. “Completely forgot about him,” he admitted, pushing his hair back smoothly. He wore nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips which only added to the awkwardness of the moment.

“Did you give him a little extra?” inquired Vegard with a slightly brighter expression, seemingly forgetting about my lack of response.

Bård sent him a knowing look and nodded briskly. “Yeah.”

“A little extra?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking.

“Well we don’t want this all over the newspapers tomorrow, now do we?” explained an annoyed Vegard, flicking his eyes towards his bother.

Bård just rolled his eyes at him, giving me a small apologetic smile. “Excuse my brother, Mary, he’s not usually such a snobby, rude douche.”

A sarcastic laugh evaporated from Vegard. “Excuse Bård, he’s not usually such a smartass who can’t stop ruining his life.”

The younger brother scowled, faintly in disbelief. “Well excuse me for wanting to be happy!”

“Happy?” echoed Vegard, his eyebrows high, forehead furrowed. “How does fucking everything up make you happy?”

Bård’s voice rose significantly. “How would _you_ know what makes _me_ happy?!”

“Well you clearly don’t know it yourself!”

“Enlighten me, please!” Bård retorted sarcastically. “Do go on and tell me how to live my life. It’s _exactly_ what I need right now! A fucking guide!”

“I am trying to tell you but you refuse to listen!” shouted Vegard in return, stepping a little closer to his brother, his fists clenched.

Bård walked forward as well, his manner spelling out pure anger. “Have you even heard a word of what you’ve told me? That bullshit? You don’t even know what’s happening here!”

“How the fuck am I supposed to know when you haven’t told me a thing!” defended Vegard, a little put down but nevertheless vigorous.

Now Bård closed the gap between them, gripping Vegard by the neck with one hand, his fist clasped tightly on the other, far too close to his face. “That’s because you don’t even try to understand!”

All through their little riot, I felt too stunned to speak, let alone move. But as things started to get completely out of hand, I urgently found myself rushing in between them, facing Bård with Vegard behind me, afraid of how far things could go if I didn’t stop them. “Enough!” I cried, a hint of desperation edging up my voice. I was shaking involuntarily, the fear overwhelming me, my eyes glistening with tears. “That’s enough,” I repeated shakily in a slightly lower tone, trying to recollect myself.

“Mary…” said Bård quietly, remarking my expression. His hands automatically moved to hold my shoulders, anguish overtaking his face.

“Whatever you have to discuss,” I began, forging my voice steady, “you will do it calmly. I’ll be here and listen, or I can just leave if you want me to, but this stupid fighting is getting you nowhere!”

Oh, how I needed a drink. My thoughts flew to the little treasure I had hidden in my bag, just one room across the hall.

With trembling hands I reached out for Bård, gently pushing him aside. “Let’s all sit down, okay?” I suggested carefully, my pleading eyes meeting his.

He smiled only barely, bending forward to plaster his lips on my forehead for the shortest of moments. I could almost hear Vegard scowl behind me. “Okay,” he agreed calmly. With a hold of my hand, Bård lead us to sit on his bed, his brother following. I was sat in between them, instantly regretting the arrangement.

Silence beheld the three of us and no one dared to break it. My heart paced in a rather speedy manner at the intense atmosphere. I felt so out of place, so ignorant of their relationship, and Vegard’s words stung me deeply. He very well implied that I was a home-wrecker, although indirectly, and I began to consider this perspective. Perhaps I had the fact that it was the least I had intended to do vouching for my innocence—but goodness, I didn’t even know the man had a family waiting for him at home! All I had done was hunted for a guy who very willingly took interest in me and who was absolutely the one to blame for our follow-up phone conversations after we had parted! No, I was not at fault and could under no circumstance allow myself to feel that way.

These dreary thoughts caused my heart to pump even faster and I could not block them.

“It’s not fair,” mumbled Bård finally.

Both mine and Vegard’s heads snapped towards him.

“What’s not fair?” I was the one to ask.

Bård sighed. He rested his elbows on his knees and his head fell into his hands. His fingers ruffled his hair as he tried to find words. “It’s just so frustrating,” he continued, speaking up a little louder. “You didn’t want to hear anything about Mary and now you’re here, flooding us with your stupid theories,” he was addressing Vegard.

The older brother scoffed. “ _I didn’t want to hear anything about her?”_ he quoted sardonically. “Where did that come from?”

Bård raised his head and turned to face him. “Oh, don’t play all innocent now.”

Vegard slapped his palms to his knees in irritation. “I asked you all about her the day the newspapers printed that picture!” he defended angrily.

A sneer escaped Bård’s lips. “Yes, and I told you she makes me happy. You refused to hear anything else after I told you there is no way I’m getting back together with Margit.”

Vegard opened his mouth, and then closed it only to open it again. “What so special about this one, then?” he finally spoke sarcastically, eyeing me consciously. “No offense to you, _Mary_ ,” the way he pronounced my name was quite ironically offensive. “But what are you? His biggest fan?—“

“Hey, I am not—“

“There’s no end of those nowadays now is there, Bård?—“

“She is not one of—“

“One of what, Bård? Whoever she is and however well she can please you in the bed department,” he wouldn’t let us cut him off, completely ignoring my raised eyebrows and disgusted expression; “is she worth throwing years and years of a good relationship away?”

The three of us fell completely silent, sharing fiery glances.

Then: “Don’t talk that way about Mary,” said Bård determinedly, his voice bordering with a threatening tone.

But I’d had in enough. “You know what Bård, I can speak for myself,” I snorted, and then turned to the other one. Bård’s head snapped back a little, taken off guard by my sudden speech. “And let me clear up a few things for you, _Vegard_ ,” my mocking tone was traceable all over, causing the man to widen his eyes; “You can go ahead and flatter yourself that you two have got fans now, but let me just tell you that other people aside those groups exist. When I met your brother I had absolutely no idea who the fuck he was, I was just looking to get laid, alright? Like every other goddamn person at a fucking gig! And guess what? He was the one who wanted to keep in touch! He was the one who called all the time! And I have no fucking clue how I ended up here and I don’t know who I am and what I mean to your brother, but maybe the two of you should clear that up. Because _I_ have absolutely no fucking idea. I didn’t want to take part in this mess! And you know what?” I stopped, standing up abruptly, and both of them started at me, stunned. Before either of them could find words, I carried on with my monologue. “Maybe I should just leave! Sort your fucking minds and leave me out of this shit!” And with that, I stormed out of the room as fast as I could.

All of these things had clouded my head for nearly a full month, leaving me sleepless at night, resulting a countless amount of restless days of sitting in my house, clutching a phone in hand, trying to understand what was happening between us. All my turmoil, my uncertainties and analysis, my mixed emotions; all of that discharged in nearly one breath. And boy, did it feel good to have it all out of my chest. Now _he_ knew how difficult it was for me.

Loud footsteps followed me and I didn’t have to look back to see who it was. “Mary, wait!” Bård called from behind me; I’d rushed to the living room in search for my bag, in desperate need for the little _medication_ it contained. But I stopped in place, picked it up and Bård had no more catching up to do. “Mary, please,” he started, a little out of breath. “Don’t go… we’ll sort this out, we just—“

“Just what, Bård? How did your fucking brilliant plan to hide me from the world work out?” I demanded, not too loudly, but very confidently and quite sardonically.

“Oh, come on, you know it—“

“No, I don’t _know_ anything,” I cut him off bitterly. “I didn’t ask for any of this shit! I’m such a stupid idiot!”

“No, Mary—“

“A stupid—“

“Please, just listen—“

“—pathetic idiot—“

“Hear me out, Mary—“

“—who just came here and thought—“

“You’re not stupid—“

“—that things would be fine, you know, because we have this bloody _connection_ ,” I spat self-mockingly, “because we get along, we _understand_ each other in this crazy, unbelievable way.”

By this point he had gotten right in front of me, taking a hold of my shoulders. I angrily shrugged his hands off. “We do understand each—“

“And you know what the worst part is? It’s my fault! It’s my own freaking fault! I completely ignored all reason, flew all the way here and of course a bloody mess awaits!”

“Mary, calm down, please,” Bård was pleading, reaching for me once more, looking at me intently. His eyes alone were begging to be understood, pleading me to regain my calm, but I was to angry and too stubborn to give in. “I’m sorry that things have gotten out of control between me and my brother, and well, that you had to be a part of it. But this has nothing to do with you and me. Nothing! It’s a stupid fight between Vegard and I that’s been going on before you and I even met!”

I stepped away from him once more, and with a hold of my bag I hurried straight out of the room. But he was faster this time around. He held both hands out in a desperate attempt to keep me from walking, positioning himself between me and the door. His hands trembled and I could tell that his voice did as well. His eyes radiated pleading and some kind of fear. He breathed heavily and fixed my eyes. “Stay. Please, just stay, and we can talk this through.”

The setback in his tone made me stop. With a sad frown and an apologetic look, I stood before him. “Bård, I—“

“Mary, please,” he whispered, and with one smooth motion, circled his arms around me, hugging me tenderly. The feel of his bare skin, his scent, his nearness… my arms surrendered and wrapped around him, holding him tightly. I breathed him in, his warmness overwhelming me, the feeling of familiarity and closeness making me completely give into the moment. I sighed into his neck, closing my eyes.

I realized he was right. I had come all the way here, just to be with him, to see how we worked together in one place, to see where this thing between us could go. To leave would not only be foolish, but it would be a door opener to a lot of “what ifs”. We had to at least talk things over, get everything out on the table and finally understand each other. I owed it to myself, to this past month of distress. It could be my one chance to gain my thoughts back to myself and I couldn’t let it slip.

Exhaling feverishly, I pulled away to face him. “Go talk to your brother,” I half-commanded, eyeing him sternly. “I’ll wait right here. Sort things out. Then you and I will talk, alright?”

His lips curled into a soft, gentle smile, and he nodded his agreement. “Alright,” he said, leaning forward to kiss my forehead. “I’ll be back really soon, I promise. Just,” he paused, eyeing me uncertainly, radiating worry. “Don’t go anywhere.”

I had no intention to respond, so with one final nod he simply turned away and made his way to his brother. When he safely disappeared behind a closed door, I didn’t wait a moment to locate what I desperately needed. Disposing of my bag once I took hold of the small little box that contained a very required substance, I walked over to the couch and liberally took a seat. Half a minute and no more white powder later, I fell back into a laying position, smiling at the ceiling as though it were the most beautiful night sky.

And then a chortle echoed through the room. Remembering the events from the last hour or so— _wow, was everything as damn ridiculous as it played out in my head?_ Another laugh escaped me while I rolled to my side. A gasp of relief was almost instant as I lay there, the drugs in my bloodstream already taking complete hold. I let my arm fall to the floor as I shut my eyes, the demonic whispers of cravings finally answered. It felt… _perfect_.

I felt as though I had entered a mind place, much better than any other—perfectly logical at that, too. That’s what I loved about it, and the fact that I didn’t have to create anything myself, no carefully decorated rooms filled to the brim of tidily organized analysis in the cautiously stuffed space in my mind. No thoughts I had to decipher and understand. No, just this state of perfection here, created in a boom all too suddenly, clarifying my head, never boring—quite the opposite, actually. Swiftly going through the recent events, I came to a conclusion that nothing mattered. The fight was pointless and ridiculous, my altering moods silly, my humiliation unnecessary. Everything was alright—why couldn’t we all see that before?

Giggling in small spasms, I began to sit up. _Goodness, I’ve wasted so much time_ , I thought regretfully. _This is it, this explains everything_. On top of the world with my full understanding, I walked over to a window, pushing away the expensive curtains that hid a wonderful day. The curt rays of sunshine blinded me momentarily, but after a few blinks, I took a good look at the sky, so peaceful and oddly… _energetic_? Everything seemed charged with so much energy (as was I), with such strong and inviting stories to be discovered. My mind played with various ideas as it interpreted the picture before me, coming to different conclusions to the significance of every, tiny thing, conducting a story behind every detail, plainly understanding the order of—

“Mary?” came a voice, but there we so many sounds I was able to hear at that point, that I was uncertain as from whence this particular one originated from. _Goodness, how long did I stand there?_  

I snapped out of my thoughts, spinning around on my heel to greet whoever, _whatever_ just joined me. A manly silhouette stood by the door’s frame, igniting a spark of recognition within me. “Bård!” I exclaimed, a little more enthusiastically than I probably should have. _Didn’t he_ just _leave this room?_ I began to step over to him as he remained frozen in place. “How did the conversation go?” I inquired after a sudden thought of recollection hit me. _Yes, we had left it at that._

“Um, fine, we—are you alright?”

_Oh yeah, they must have talked things over really fast…_

“Huh?”

“Mary…”

_I mean it was only like two minutes while he was gone…_

“Of course I’m alright. Why wouldn’t I be?” I asked, rather perplexed.

 _…Of course, that was it. It_ had _to be it. Why would I be confused about the time?_

Bård looked at me intently, observing me quite closely. Concern etched on his brow but a small smile was hidden in his lips. “After your reaction, I thought...” he trailed off, shaking his head a little. Impulsively, I lifted my weight on my toes and pecked his cheek. Once I pulled away, odd relief was spread over his features. “Alright, then,” he said, a little surprised. Small gratitude magnified his expression. “I’m glad we’re fine.”

“Of course we are,” I confirmed lightly, pulling him to a hug. For a few moments he stood frozen, but before too long his arms automatically found their way around me. _Oh God, let me stay here like this forever…_

“Good,” he said, somewhat in relief. Then, after a few moments of silence, he cleared his throat, completely ruining the little magical moment, saying: “Vegard has something to tell you.”

Walls tumbled down in my head. “Oh,” I uttered, finally taking notice of the older brother standing just a few steps behind Bård. Pulling away from the hug, I heard Vegard’s voice.

“I’m sorry for being so rude earlier,” he mumbled mechanically, as though he were a child forced to speak those words.

_Rude? What hap—Oh, that. Yes, he was rude to me. Very rude._

“And?” Bård prompted, addressing his brother.

“And,” prolonged Vegard, shooting an annoyed look in return. “I was wrong.”

 _Yes you were_. I grinned at his statement, remembering how ridiculous the whole fight had been.

“And?” repeated Bård, quite sternly.

“And I’m—“ started Vegard, but then stopped. With a distinctive look between us both, he observed the situation and shook his head, folding his arms at his chest. “You know, this is a ridiculous conversation right here. I mean just look at the two of you,” he said, extending his arms forward to point at us. _Did he just say there was something wrong with me? I was completely alright, for goodness’ sake!_

Bård and I shared a look, and the inspected each other wordlessly. It wasn’t long before Vegard’s point became evident to us both. Barely dressed, hairs halfway dried, ruffled expressions… and that little hug Vegard witnessed. He had a good point, and I was eager for him to leave. Presumably, so was he.

“Let’s just finish this conversation over lunch tomorrow,” he suggested finally, with pleading eyes that searched an escape.

“No, just say what you have to say, and—“

But I cut Bård off. “He’s right,” I told him honestly, with a powerful wish inside me to use this new-arisen energy within myself more productively. “We’ll just talk tomorrow when we’re all calmer. Just let the dust settle first.”

“But Mary,” tried Bård again in protest, “you’re leaving in—“

“ _Please_ ,” I interjected, taking a hold of his hand, eyeing him with a pout. _I need him to myself now… the brother can wait._

Vegard sighed, glancing at me in an oddly thankful manner. “Well, I better get going,” he announced somewhat relieved, already taking his steps away.

“Let me just walk you—“

“I know my way to the door,” he cut Bård off impatiently, facing away from us, already halfway down the hall. As he began to disappear from my sight, I grinned widely.

Still holding onto Bård’s hand, I took a step in front of him. He seemed a little confused by this quick dissolution of the conversation, so I brought my other hand to his head, dragging him down for a kiss. _He doesn’t understand yet… I have to show him!_ For a few moments he was immobile, but it didn’t take him look to return my eager kiss, wrapping his arms around me, gluing me to him. Before either of us had done anything more, I conveniently tucked at his towel, leaving it to drop to the ground.

He froze at my action and pulled away, only to see me looking at him mischievously. “Oops,” I whispered playfully, causing him to grin provocatively, albeit he seemed a little puzzled at first. With a slick movement he had me in his hands, lifting me up and pressing me against a wall. Hastily, he met me in a hungry kiss, and I couldn’t help but feel my energy transfer to him. _Yes, he finally begins to understand._ I couldn’t be more glad.


	12. Sunrise

“You like it, then?”

Bård’s voice pulled me out of a trance-like state. “Hmm?” I hummed sleepily, nuzzling in his neck. Comfortably snuggled under the warm sheets of his bed, we just laid there as close as we could get our bodies together. He had his arms wrapped around me while I rested on his shoulder sideways. With my left arm evenly stretched over his chest, I allowed my fingers to gently graze his smooth skin, not in a playful way, but rather in a rhythm of a lullaby. Our previous, long-lasting wilderness was starting to get to me, my eyelids were weighing down with a discreet motive to doze me off.

“The song?” he explained lazily, his fingers playing with a lock of my hair nonchalantly.

Janis Joplin’s  _‘Summertime’_  echoed throughout the room rather quietly; but the hypnotizing sounds, rather her words, I could barely register. Instead, my mind just floated along with the music, accepting it as a natural extension of my energy’s come-down. I did that quite often, actually, fitting the music into the situation as though it belonged there completely, not perceiving it as something that was an addition to the moment.

“Yeah,” I mumbled softly, which was a partially truthful answer to be sure, as the calming atmosphere was undeniable. I didn’t need to pay much attention to music to decide whether it was good or not. If it blended with the moment, no further analysis was required.

“I still can’t believe you’ve never heard it,” he marveled. His words were sluggish, yet I picked out some tones of amazement.

“Mhm…”

“ _I mean_ —A female musician who just… Wait, you have listened to Janis before, right?”

“Mhm…”

“How could you miss out on this one?” he asked, uttering his disapproval in a _tsk_. It sounded surprisingly fresh and impulsive, so inappropriate in this drowsy and lazy atmosphere. “ _I mean_ , hey, it is  _only_  the most captivating, exceptional song she has ever performed.”

His tone was mocking, but instead of firing back, a smile began to play with my lips. I loved how excited and passionate he could get about music, in fact it was the one thing that we undoubtedly shared from the very beginning, a thing not many people could understand to the fullest. He did, just as well as me. It felt very special. “Nothing beats  _‘A Piece of my Heart’_ ,” I insisted stubbornly, but in a voice so tired that was only barely convincing.

“Mary Laine, you have officially succeeded to disappoint me,” declared Bård above me, just as the song came to its end. Quite conveniently,  _‘A Piece of my Heart’_  blasted as a follow up, recharging the room with a passion only Janis could bring, and very much adding up to my point. The whole melody, the emotion in which she pronounced the lyrics—it made hair stand up all over my body, and as I could feel, Bård reacted exactly the same way. He chuckled at the beaming sound, taking the powerful melody in.

“I have?” I wondered obligingly at his previous question.

“Yes. You are  _such_  a cliché!” he proclaimed, visibly entertained.

Had I any energy left, I would have undoubtedly risen up in defense to my pride, but instead I just decided to remain safely tugged in his arms. “I’m not,” I grumbled against his skin.

“Yes, you are,” he insisted quite confidently, his fingers picking out another strand of my hair for amusement.

“Uh-uh.”

“Uh- _huh_!” he countered. “Everyone knows that song. Everyone likes it. All the broken hearted ladies,  _all_ over the world. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the song is genius and all, but it’s become quite mainstream nowadays.”

Those were words I couldn’t accept without a fight. I finally shifted my head in search of his eyes.  _“Mainstream?”_  I cited in a narrowed gaze.

He flashed in a glint of satisfaction at my sudden more-energetic response. Grinning at me, he wiggled his brow playfully.  _Challengingly_. “You heard me right,” he confirmed with a barely traceable smirk.

I shook my head and dramatically rolled my eyes. “You don’t know the first thing about music, then,” I concluded simply, childishly.

It was his turn to narrow his eyes, pursing his lips tightly for better effect. “Low blow, Mary Laine. Low blow.”

“Hey,” I pimped, raising my brows. “ _You_  brought this on.”

A slightly forced sigh escaped his lips. “It  _is_  mainstream,” he contended, and with a shake of my head in resignation, I restored to my previous, cozy position. His lips met my temple very softly, his fingers beginning to stroke my arm soothingly in the meanwhile. His even breathing and calm position sent me over to my sleepiness again, and I sighed at the tingling, happy feeling inside of me. Ignoring all the drowsiness caused by jet lag, days of poor sleep and the cocaine’s wearing off effects, I focused on this idea of completeness, of… love. An idea that might not have been as real as my melancholic head played out, but yet an idea I welcomed warmly in my system.

Bård could presumably feel me drift off so quickly, and in a low voice and careful manner, he asked: “What happened to your enthusiastic suggestion to pull an all-nighter?” By the end of this sentence, he was almost whispering.

But my energy was far too low to help me produce a suitable reply. Instead I just smiled, and although he couldn’t see that, I felt like he knew exactly how I responded. Moving a little as was possible, he extended his arm and with a single flick, he turned the nightstand lamp off, and that just showed me of the full understanding that existed between us. To be next to him was just wonderful. I wanted to say something— _anything_ —to substantiate this feeling, to acquaint myself, but instead, I drifted into a dreamless sleep within moments, the smile never leaving my lips.

After what felt like only minutes later, a beam of light from outside woke me up in the middle of the night. Struggling to push my eyelids open, I began to contemplate my situation. A certain warmth and a joyful feeling to meet a new morning—or a far too early of a morning in my case,  _night_ , even—in the arms of this wonderful man, exactly as I had been imagining for weeks prior, overtook me momentarily. But a nausea, which penetrated into my beautiful thoughts, centered in my stomach followed quickly enough. My throat felt sore and dehydrated. I then realized that there had probably been no light to awake me, but rather my sickness shaking me up and about. Boy, I was feeling really shitty. I had to get up, and I had to do it fast.

My head was on Bård's chest and I feared that I couldn't move without waking him up. But the thirst in my throat made it unavoidable to get up, which was actually only the beginning of my needs. Soon it became obvious that I could in no way dodge throwing my guts up. Deciding I could not very well do that right there, I began to get up, moving as little as I possibly could. Bård shrugged at my sudden absence only slightly, but however, remained fast asleep.

Now up and steady on my feet, I made a run for the bathroom. I felt the etching vomit bubble up towards my mouth, my hands quickly covering up its exit. Luckily, the toilet was not much further away and I knelt down quickly beside it. Although some sick began to spurt out from in between my fingers, I released the barrier and let it fall into the toilet. My back hunched over more and more as my mouth poured out everything that was making me feel qualm. It was not much, actually, as the only thing I had consumed during the day was alcohol, maybe a little water along the way, but the ordered Chinese food from before was long forgotten and untouched. My fingers searched for something to grip around nearby, but ended up on the toilet seat eventually. They slid every now and then because of the slick coating of vomit on them.  
  
The last few gags were always the worst, because of the fact that they were always dry heaves.  _God_ _,_ _so unnecessary_ _and_ _damn nasty!_ They echoed in the silent, empty room and I sincerely hoped that it would not awake Bård. Once there was nothing more to come out of my mouth, I shakily stood up to my feet, not taking a moment to rest. I needed to clean up; the smell and my dirty, slippery fingers I could not bear a moment longer. Although I was definitely done throwing up, the sickness inside me did not go away, and the dizziness was only the beginning of my problems.

Turning the tap on to its full capability, I rinsed off my hands before adding up some soap. I did this mechanically, pointedly ignoring my reflection on the mirror before me, fully aware that it was a sight I did not wish to see. After moments I splashed some of the cold water on my face, washing my mouth right after, making sure to take a few large sips along the way. Dehydration was a serious threat, one I ought to better minimize from taking place. My toothbrush was still unpacked, so a sudden thought that I could use Bård’s came to me, and I wondered if he would mind at all. But as I noticed that there were two such objects to be located near the sink, I realized that it was a bad idea. I could not know which one was his, and…  _no, I didn’t belong here._

Turning away and consciously pushing such inappropriate thoughts away, I took my steps towards the balcony. Bård’s shirt remained on me – even through our previous actions I kept it on, with him insisting that it looked very sexy and he just loved the sight of me in it. However, it was widely unbuttoned, and with a sigh I worked to close it up as I kept on walking.

I had buttoned it wrong.

I didn’t notice until I reached the very last button at the bottom of the shirt, where I spotted an extra hole at the uneven tails of the white texture. Sighing irritably, I began to undo my work in order to start again. This time I stopped in space to do it properly, and once I succeeded, I took a good look at Bård who was fast asleep. He looked so peaceful in the pale darkness. I couldn’t help but enjoy the sight of that man, right there, so close to my reach. But I couldn’t go back to bed, not feeling like I did, and fresh air was more than a requirement.

Thus I turned to continue my sneaking towards the balcony.

I tugged at the shirt, trying to pull it further down as the cold air greeted me outside. A smile evaded my expression at the sight of my cigarettes, laid upon the table, exactly as I had left them. I didn’t hesitate to light one right away, as soon as I took a seat, ignoring the cold leathery texture of the chair. The nicotine eased my inner war, taking my mind off the nausea for a few moments as I tried my best to relax into the night. Thus I was perplexed when the sun began to rise out of nowhere. I stared at the peeking light from far across, wondering how did time fly away as quickly. With a few drags of smoke, I inspected the scenery evenly, unable to shake of the feeling of oddness. Stubbing the butt of my unfinished cigarette in an ashtray, I got up and walked back in the bedroom, examining the room in search of my phone. Locating the object was easier than it could have been, and so I picked it up swiftly.

_8:23._

Was it really that late—or well, really that  _early_ , yet still relatively so late?

This time around I didn’t take notice to minimize the sounds I was making, and must have woken up Bård with my careless movements. I heard the bed make a tiny, muffled squeaking sound. “Mary?” he buzzed in his sleep.

“Hey,” I whispered gently, walking over to sit next to him, phone still in hand.

“What are you doing up so early?” he wondered, bringing one hand to his face to rub his eyes open. With a clearer view of me this time around, he added: “Were you calling someone?”

“No, no,” I hastened to reply, producing a smile. “Just checking the time,” I explained petulantly.

“The time?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” he uttered, rather surprised. “What time is it, then?”

“Half past eight,” I replied automatically, without taking another look at the screen.

He blinked a couple of times, considering this piece of information. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“What are you doing up so early?” he repeated his unanswered question from before.

I couldn’t very well tell him that I had awoken to throw my guts out, especially on my relatively empty stomach which he was too well aware of. He would start to ask questions, questions of concern I did not wish to clarify or relive. So instead, I improvised. Evaded a reply. “Come to the balcony with me,” I plainly suggested.

He started at me for a few moments, unblinking. “The balcony?”

“Yeah, come!” I insisted, now taking a hold of his hand. Jumping to my feet, I pulled at him to join me.

“Alright,” he mumbled, his voice drenched with levity.

Hand in hand, I led us to sit on the luxurious chairs, the sun making its peek right on cue. Bård took the scenery in, rather astounded, but his features lightened promptly as he met the rising day, displaying an expression of enjoyment and pure entertainment.

“Did you wake up to watch the sunrise?” he didn’t fail to ask instinctively.

I grinned as I eyed him. “I did not,” I answered with a giggle. “It was just a happy coincidence.”

At that statement of mine, he smiled. Without a word, he leaned over to me, one of his hands lifting my chin, creating an easy path for our lips to meet. The kiss was soft and tender, and very successful at sending a tingly feeling all over my body. He pulled away shortly, meeting my gaze, smiling with pure joy all over.

“A happy coincidence, huh?” he quoted, a miniscule glint sparkling in his eye.

And I really began to think about it. What a happy coincidence it was to see him in the club that night, and that it just happened for him to also want to meet me as much as I wished to meet him, albeit the different motives. And that we fell in touch afterwards, no matter what the circumstances that lead us to do so were, and that we got along so abnormally well against all odds. And the way we kept on calling one another, taking up the same interest of each other, being able to enjoy sharing stories even over the phone, even when we were physically apart, especially for as long as we actually did all of that. A happy coincidence that lead me here, in his house, in his arms, making me forget all about reality and bluntly forcing me to focus on him and him only.

Of course, such a thought did its usual counter-effect and soon enough all the events from the previous day returned. Or rather, the whole scene when Vegard penetrated my blissful thoughts.  _A happy coincidence?_ I thought cynically, questioning my own perception. The man was so unhappy to find me with his brother, and that was  _not_ a happy coincidence. What was I missing, what couldn’t I see? Suddenly, I found myself weirdly looking forward to finishing up the conversation with him. With no cocaine to take my mind off of things, I felt a brisk fear that my mind would begin to ponder over this situation overtaking me.

Bård just inspected me closely as I wandered deeper into my own thoughts. Surprisingly, he didn’t seek an explanation, just pulled me into a hug wordlessly. He somehow knew exactly what I needed. The soft touch of his hand on my cheek and his warm breath on my neck did their usual, expected affect, quickly pulling my thoughts away from the madness that happened between us recently. The events from the previous day began to disappear from my head, and I sighed in relief. It was as if only that moment existed and as if we were drawn to one another by a force so strong that nothing could tear us apart.

He silently traced his lips over my cheek, edging up to my mouth, and I completely gave in. Before too long, he captured my lips with his, moving along slowly, albeit persistently. I knew he had no intention to cut this kiss short. It had been only a couple of hours since he last kissed me like that, but I missed it beyond everything else. A feeling so new to me, one that he introduced me to not too long ago, and yet far more exciting than any other I could relate to physical excitement. It was not the sex in general that I yearned for, as I very usually did so in the past, but I did miss that sense of connection that ran through my entire body when we were together.

As he went in for an even more intoxicating kiss, all I could feel and think of was the beating of my heart. My blood was rushing through my veins, all over my body and especially concentrating in my head, bringing that strong familiar color of red on my face, and this time I was rather grateful he could not see me look as ridiculous. As he playfully entangled his tongue with mine, a silenced moan escaped my lips, only causing him to intensify his passion, making me want more. It was the encouragement he required, since as of that moment his grip got stronger, gluing me to his body as much as the chairs would allow us. Quickly getting irritated by the barrier they built, he stood up to his feet without breaking the kiss, and pulled me up with him.

His right hand was now sliding down my back and his left was playing with my cluttered hair. As his fingers tangled into the mess, I smiled, biting on his lip gently. Rather abruptly, he froze for a moment, parting himself from me as though he needed some space. Still not very used to these odd, sudden actions of his, a puzzled look of mine went over to meet his gaze. His eyes were mesmerizing and his piercing look was enough to send electric shocks all over my body alone. This time I knew better that to ask what was wrong, fully aware that this was his little thing, a need to slow things down for the shortest of periods and just appreciate the simplicity of it all. I grinned widely, realizing how much I was growing to love this.

Nevertheless, we knew that distance between us at this moment was only unnecessary. My hands were pulling him closer and the apparent desire in my eyes made him realize that I had no intention on stopping now. He leaned over me every-so-smoothly, teasing me with a small, tentative kiss, before taking me in his arms, carrying me to his bedroom without a single moment of hesitation.  
  
Pointedly avoiding the bed, he led me towards the door, an action I didn’t understand until I felt my back against it. He allowed my feet to fall to the ground. As his body was skin-tightened to mine as humanly possible, recharging the passion from only moments ago, I felt his hand leaving my back. When the sound of the key turning in the bolt reached my trembling senses, my heart beat revived and I eyed him questioningly.

Ignoring my look, he lowered his head closer to me, almost teasingly. "No one will disturb us in this round," Bård's voice echoed in my ear. That whisper just made me hug him even harder. The fact that we were finally left alone raised my anticipation even more. My nails left traces on his back and he just picked me off the ground once more, right after he whispered one extended moan in my ear.

Now that I could feel every single of his tense muscles, I knew the location to which Bård was headed was the bed without a single doubt. That same bed that was slowly becoming our constant sanctuary. As soon as he started making his way over there, I ran my fingers through his silky hair, giving myself another thing to enjoy. I even forgot how much I loved that feeling. His kisses now laid on my collar-bone and the feeling of his soft lips on my bare skin were arousing me more and more. As soon as he reached the bed, he threw me on it so carefully and yet so passionately that it made me wonder where this beastly temper of his was hidden before.

No more than a second passed and he was on top of me, tugging my shirt away, without separating his gaze from mine. The pressure of this pleasure was so fulfilling that I felt as if I was drifting away from the reality falling in a mix of excitement, moans and sweat. Everything was so damn perfect and I couldn’t even begin to embrace it. I longed for him, for his body, his touch…

And then  _of course_ , out of all the wrong moments on Earth that one could choose, some idiot selected this exact one to call Bård. The beeping sound snapped us apart, and I couldn’t believe it was actually real, not in my head instead, voicing and booming into the room like a freaking demonic anthem sent over to mess me up completely.  _My overemphasized perception was explainable, really. I was just so damn turned on._

The sound made Bård pause and he was halfway getting up when I begged, truly begged: "No, no, no wait... what are you doing? Don't go... you'll call them back!"

He stood there for few seconds reconsidering, but as the persistent ringtone kept on blasting, he just uttered a soft "Sorry" in his special Norwegian way. Something what turned me on so much, but at that moment felt like a whip.

I groaned and dug my head into the pillows.  _Seriously, out of all the moments on the planet, it had to be this one?_ The nausea in my stomach returned and I sighed irritably. Cursing whoever interrupted this moment under my breath, I looked at Bård across the room, calmly making conversation over the phone, speaking words that besides the common ‘Ja, ja’s I could not interpret.

Apparently, not even a locked door could keep Vegard from interrupting us. Bård came back over to me within a minutes, explaining that his brother had wanted to make sure that we came for lunch. I wondered if he was just cautious not to be offensive while he spoke in that peaceful manner, or he really was okay with this interruption. I was obviously not.

“And he had to do that now? And  _you_  had to pick up?” I whined dramatically.

Bård chuckled at my silliness. “Yes, dear Mary, he just had to do it now. As well as I  _had_  to answer it, yeah.”

“But it’s nine in the fucking morning! What is wrong with you Norwegian people?”

He kept on chuckling, leaning in to plaster a kiss on my cheek, then to pinch it playfully with his fingers. “He means well,” he was convincing me—or himself?—quite casually, but then lowered his tone to a seductive whisper, saying: “Now, where did we stop?” and with that, his lips began to trace all over my neck as though nothing had happened since the last time they were subliming such an action. Well, while he evidently could continue as if nothing had happened - I couldn’t and wouldn’t.

I pushed him away. “No! The passion is dead now!” I exclaimed melodramatically, but in truth, the nausea was getting the better out of me, besides the fact that I was extremely annoyed that he had decided to take the call. My little, silly pride would not give way.

He got himself back to me. “I could work on that,” he mumbled temptingly, his lips never parting from my skin.

“No!” I denied insistently.

Finally, he raised his head. “ _Seriously_?”

I nodded confidently, although his expression did send my mind reconsidering right away. Biting on my lip to prevent any words that could escape, I just stared at him, determined to stick to my point.

He sighed. “Come on, Mary, I’ll do  _anything_ …” he was pleading, knowing very well what that tone of voice did to me.

Pushing him away, he rolled on the bed sideways.

“Make me breakfast, then,” I demanded childishly. Strangely, it was the first thing that came to my mind. _This damn_ _sickness..._

He paused, sized me up seriously, analyzed my expression and then let out a chortle. Disbelief radiated his expression. “Alright, fine,” he boyishly surrendered. But he remained in his position, unmoving. Still eyeing me up.

“What are you waiting for, then?”

He just looked at me blankly in response.

“Go on, then, fix me some food!” I commanded, my hands pushing at his upper arm in all seriousness.

Grinning widely, he shook his head, and moved over to me to peck me lightly before jumping to his feet. “You are unbelievable, did you know that?” he told me before exciting the room. I returned him a wink, and he soon disappeared into the hall.

Smiling to myself in satisfaction after this small victory, I fell back in the pillows, inspecting the ceiling above me as though it held some ancient secrets. In the meanwhile, my mind worked out ways on how to kill the goddamn sick feeling within me. Surely enough, an idea came to me eventually, and it was one I just had to accept as a best option. Bård was going to love it… although, all the while he would remain quite unaware of it all, of course. 


	13. Trouble

Lunch at Vegard’s place started off surprisingly brightly. For Bård and me, at the very least. Things, however, have a tendency to go downhill—at least that was always the case with me...

An hour before we left, my drowsy state became unbearable and I knew that something had to be done. You see, most people would at this point reach for a glass of their favorite drink (alcohol), but I knew that it would only worsen my situation at the very best, so of course I had to rely—or rather _settle_ —on my healthy stack of Xanax. _That_ , of course, was very legal to transport oversea for a patient like me, diagnosed with anxiety. And, I couldn’t very well fall asleep on the dining table, now could I? I was damn anxious—for entertainment, for fun only a good high could bring. But there was this bigger idea that came to me previously—as if lunch at Vegard’s house brought some inspiration to my heart—and it required a little or even quite a large amount of improvisation.

The whole plan was to give Bård a dose as well, one I was nearly certain he would not be up for at this early hour of day. Or at any part of the day for that matter. Considering the fact that as far as he was concerned the existence of drugs was science-fiction; I could easily presume that he had never tried any. Well, until now… Maybe it was mischievous and somewhat wrong, but I knew he ought to relax, in fact he desperately needed to calm his nerves over the entire conversation that was due with his brother. He wouldn’t admit it easily, but I could see it clearly that he wished to avoid it altogether, and instead spend his time with me. Taking in consideration the recent events, I couldn’t blame him. His brother didn’t seem to like me at all which was to a level understandable, but he also didn’t support Bård as he should have. Therefore I understood perfectly why Bård didn’t want to waste a single second of my stay on anything else but me. Whatever was going on between him and Vegard could be resolved once I was gone, but however, I had questions of my own. Those questions needed answers and I knew how to get them. I could always get the answers I required—all I needed as motivation was a wish to do so. And this one was not giving me peace.

So mind you, I did not intend to drug Bård, or Vegard—or anyone, for the matter—in order to get them to cooperate, but what I needed was a calm environment and no one could blame me for it. However, neither of the brothers would relax plainly because I’d ask them to, so I needed to find a way to ease Bård’s mind in order to help him get things sorted, in his own head at the very least. He needed my help, although he was quite unaware of that.

Smashing approximately ten milligrams of pills unnoticed thrived to be a troublesome task. But I could handle it smoothly, the big girl I was. Besides, Bård was far too worried about the upcoming lunch that he wouldn’t have noticed it even if I did it right in front of him.

“Would you like some tea, Bård?” I yelled from the living room where I’d excused myself to go to get my clothes, and thus searched through my bag for the pills in the meanwhile. Bård was getting dressed in his bedroom across the hall, so I snatched this rare opportunity to separate myself from him to my great advantage.

“Uh, no, not really,” he shouted his reply, but it was not one I would accept and certainly not after the trouble I’d go through to make it happen. _  
_

“But I make some _really_ good tea,” I insisted, introducing my most charming convincing voice, hoping it would be enough for Bård to fall for.

It wasn’t long before he appeared at the door frame, sliding into his shirt swiftly along the way. A flashback of this morning hit my senses with its entire strength. I nearly forgot what my plan was in the first place. _God, every time I looked at him it was the same feeling._ Certainly, we couldn’t stand to be apart from one another if it was only a hall that separated us. “Really, _really_ good?” he prompted teasingly.

I grinned while nodding energetically. “ _Really_ good, I promise.”

“But,” he began, walking over to me, then cupping my face with his hands once he was right in front of me, “I don’t want any tea.”

Carefully closing my fist over the numerous pills in my hand, I rose on my toes and pecked his lips lightly. “Well, I do and you have to fulfill all of my wishes. So, I’m gonna make some tea now, and you’re gonna drink it.” With that, I spun around dramatically and headed towards the kitchen confidently.

“Damn, you are really bossy this morning,” he commented behind me, but I just waved him off. He followed me step by step, which was quite lucky to start with, as I obviously was unable to produce any tea without his instructions. One cannot make tea without teabags – the number one rule in tea-making. But as to all the other rules, those I was unfamiliar with.

“In the cupboard right above you,” he guided me lazily, without a word shared previously. It was as though he could read my mind. I turned over to him to gift him a wide smile, before moving to explore the location he aforementioned.

There it was—green tea, my favorite, right on top of everything else. I chuckled lightly at the coincidence. Bård just stood there, slightly leaned on the counter, taking in my every move. Of course, that was something I could not allow since it would take only one of his seductive glances for me drop everything I had and take him captive to the bedroom, not letting him leave for weeks. So I turned over in my playful manner after I took hold of two teabags and shut the cupboard closed. That all had to be done one-handedly, as my left hand was clutching a _reasonably_ large amount of Xanax. “What, are you just gonna stand there and do nothing?” I swiftly asked.

Bård grinned. “What, am I supposed to hold the teabags for you while you wait for the water to boil?”

I rolled my eyes dramatically. “No, but you could put some water in the microwave.” However, in worst case scenario that was a lovely idea, as long as it would prevent him from realizing what I was clasping in my hand.

“And here I was, thinking it would just boil magically,” he joked mischievously, raising his hands in the air in fake disbelief, all for better effect.

“Oh, just get out and let me work here,” I said, shaking my head at him.

He laughed obediently. “Alright, alright— _I’ll help_.”

“Just get out,” I demanded in fake annoyance.

“Oh, don’t kick me out,” he played along, folding his arms at his chest. “I’ll hold both the teabags _and_ boil the water,” he offered rather seriously, suppressing a laugh. With a tempting wink, he added: “Only for you.”

“Oh, you are just so, _so_ sweet,” I mocked, “so thoughtful and caring.” At those words, he took a step towards me, and I could foresee a kiss. “Now please leave and let me make the best tea on the planet in peace.”

He stopped mid strut, his hands finding their rest at his hips. “You’re still joking, right?” he questioned cautiously, one eyebrow raised high. Oh, but I was not and I had the intention to point that out to him, so I just eyed him with pursed lips in return.

“Gee,” he muttered, raising his hands in surrender, and turned to walk away without another word.

The second he disappeared, I hurried to fill two mugs with water, put them into the microwave and began my process. It consisted of two spoons that with a rather forceful pressure of mine were crashing a pill by pill in between their two metal surfaces. The Xanax made small cracking sounds as it slowly became white powder, and as soon as the microwave sounded a _cling!_ to signify the end of its work, I was completely done with my project. _Just on time._

Two thirds of the substance ended up in my cup, the rest I poured modestly into Bård’s. _He’s gonna love it… He’d better…_ With two tablespoons of sugar to cover up the taste, both cups clutched in my hands, I headed out of the kitchen proud of my achievement, to be met by Bård who was stretched comfortably on the sofa. The living-room and kitchen were connected by a single door, which was of course the least complicated part of Bård’s labyrinth of a house. Taking a seat next to him, I handed him the warm cup. He nodded his thanks, taking a sip almost immediately.

“ _This_ is shit,” he didn’t fail to note right away. Actually, it was strange that he expected something better. _Hasn’t he learned yet? The kitchen is not my comfort zone!_ However, he didn’t dare to ponder over my poor preparation skills, as my glance warned trouble. Instead, mirroring my actions, he swallowed the whole thing in a few large sips and then dragged me into a heated making-out session.

His mood shifted and varied throughout the hour. He became more relaxed, with slight waves of euphoria that took him over every now and then. _A damn beginner_. With no experience to vouch for him, I was beginning to worry if this high would do him the good I had imagined, especially without any alcohol consumed along the way. I couldn’t convince him to drink shots before we left for Vegard’s (“No, I am driving,” he insisted, no matter how much I tried to persuade him that he had to loosen up), so the pills alone would have to work.

With his fingers clasped around the steering wheel, he focused on the road intently, and a very out-of-place smile played with his lips. Throughout the ten minute drive, he seemed happy, maybe a little confused at some short points, but all that was normal. “I feel a little silly,” he confessed when we exited his car. I gave him a kiss that surely made him forget such thoughts. Beginner or not, my medicine was working. It was good enough to relax him, but also tolerable to leave him aware of himself and the environment, something I concluded to my great satisfaction.

Vegard wore a forced smile when he opened the door for us, which grew especially ‘enthusiastic’ at the sight of our locked hands. Behind him stood a beautiful, blonde woman, a little taller than his shoulder, dressed warmly in a green sweater that flattered her figure perfectly. Her smile, on the other hand, was oddly kind. “Welcome, welcome,” she stepped forward, extending her arm in greeting. “I’m Helda,” he introduced herself warmly.

“Hi—thank you! I’m Mary,” I hurried to reply, having to let go of Bård’s hand to shake hers.

“Nice to meet you,” she politely responded, and all I could do was nod in return.

Vegard pressed his own greeting along the way, and guided me to enter his house while his girlfriend hugged Bård. “How are you today, Mary?” he asked me carefully, taking me off guard a little.

“I’m good, thank you,” I recovered quickly, making sure to keep eye contact. “Yourself?”

“Very good, thank you,” he enthused a little too brightly, making my insides cringe. _Oh, I was definitely not very welcome here._

Bård was quick to reattach himself to me, taking my hand in wordless support I found more than necessary. He exchanged a few Norwegian words with the couple, while I stood there, my gaze travelling from one person to another simultaneously, trying to interpret their expressions. However uneasy their foreign words made me feel, Bård’s calm nature and soft grip on my hand gave me the required relaxation.

“It smells very good,” I commented once they all went very silent. Actually, the very thought of food at that moment made me wince, however I knew that such a compliment was due in these awkward situations. Someone was bound to say something and it was a good chance to present myself in good light.

Helda’s smile widened and she nodded appreciatively. “Thank you—I’ve made some Italian food.” Her English sounded no worse that the brothers’, although her accent was a little further off. The brothers’ musical talent played a big part in their good pronunciation, I figured. “You do like Bolognese, I assume?” she inquired politely.

The one thought that crossed my mind at that point was actually a wish, rather a demand for my stomach to be on my side by _not_ grumbling furiously, as it often had a tendency to do so when I wasn’t hungry at all. “Yes, I love Bolognese,” I obligingly replied, earning my fingers a small, gentle squeeze from Bård. I looked up at him, whereupon he greeted me with a smile.

“I just have to set the table up and then we can eat,” announced Helda, providing me another opening to blend in.

“Could I help?”

“Oh no, it’s alright,” she said, exchanging a quick look with Vegard. “That’s Vegard’s job.”

“Actually,” he interrupted, looking at his girlfriend. “If Mary would like to do it, I could step aside. Have a little man on man time with my brother.”

Bård sized him up with furrowed eyebrows, and somehow they managed to communicate silently. It was weird how they could understand each other through only a glance, and yet be so unlinked in their opinion of me.

“I’d love to do it,” I spoke up, although at that point the last thing I wanted to do was let go of Bård’s hand. I required the security his closeness provided in these unfamiliar surroundings. And the worry Vegard’s behavior caused. As long as no shouting from across the room came, everything would be fine, I concluded silently. 

“Thank you, Mary,” Helda piped in, smiling, before sharing another look with her boyfriend. After a moment, she added: “The kitchen is this way.” With a wave of her hand she started, and I hurried to follow, my fingers slipping from Bård’s and instantly feeling self-conscious. Goodness, it had been such a long time since I’d last had to deal with people in such an ordinary situation. My sweaty palms knew that all too well.

We reached the kitchen quite soon. Vegard’s house did not seem much smaller than Bård’s, however the fact that I’d entered it through the front door made the paths to the different rooms in a much more logical order than in Bård’s. In her usual, bright voice, Helda turned to face me as soon as we stopped walking. “So, how do you like Norway?”

I wasn’t very prepared to answer such a question; all my mind had pondered over before was the following conversation with Vegard. In fact, I wasn’t aware of his girlfriend’s existence until I saw her with my own eyes. “Uh, it… it’s a really lovely country,” I answered truthfully, although I’d seen little of the land and much more than necessary of Bård’s bedroom instead.

She nodded her agreement. “Indeed it is. Will you be staying long?”

“No—not really, uh, I leave on Saturday morning.”

Her hands reached up a cupboard, struggling a little as it was positioned slightly too high for a short person like her.

“Oh, so soon?”

I walked over to help her. “Yeah, well, I have to get back to work,” my voice sounded a little colder than I intended.

She didn’t seem to notice. She reached a plate, handed it to me before returning to fetch another. “What do you do?” Her question was casual enough and yet still set me on edge.

“I’m a singer in a band,” I informed in the same indifferent tone as hers, and by then she had handed me the complete number of four plates.

She turned around to meet my gaze, smiling widely. “That sounds wonderful. It must be an exciting job.” Then, she went over to pick up some cutlery.

“It is,” I confirmed lightly.

Having assembled all the required objects, she started to exit the kitchen, and I wordlessly followed. Her tone remained pleasant when she asked: “What brings you to Norway?”

Out of all her previous questions, that was the one the struck me the most. She took me completely off guard. I gulped and bit on my tongue, thus trying to withhold a response that would be sarcastic and very inappropriate. “I’m visiting Bård,” were my calm, plain, cold words, uttered through gritted teeth.

_No, I wasn’t welcome._

“How lovely,” enthused Helda in such a pleasant manner that I wondered how it was possible to be faked.

We were then setting up the table, with me placing the plates and her adding the cutlery alongside simultaneously. “Vegard, de kan komme nå!” she shouted once she let go of the last object she held in hand.

At those words the two brothers walked into the room immediately, both seemingly in a good mood, which added to my relief. As Helda returned to the kitchen, Bård locked his gaze with mine, so I hurried to brighten my expression, not wanting him to worry. He pecked my cheek once he reached me, an action so sweet and intimate that sent me wondering how it was possible for us to feel so close to one another, something that felt so right to the both of us and yet to wrong to those around.

“What would you like to drink?” asked Vegard a little louder than necessary, and then cleared his throat consciously. “Wine, maybe? Red?”

His eyes flicked from me to his brother, to whom I turned at that point, asking: “Bård?”

He raised his eyebrows at me in response, reading my mind, saying: “I could have a glass.”

_Prefect._

“Okay. I’ll have one as well, then,” I answered Vegard’s question, relief spreading throughout me rapidly. Soon enough, the wine would do its magic and remove all the damn anxiety within me. _Benzos and wine… yeah, I can write a song about that. It wouldn’t be the first time._

Upon these words, Vegard left for the kitchen exactly when Helda reappeared, holding one huge bowl of food. She placed it carefully in the middle of the table, and then smiled (dear God, she smiled a lot) in success. “Please, sit down,” she told us as she began her walk back to the kitchen.

Bård and I followed her instructions in unison, and as soon as we were both sat, his hand found mine to reconnect with, our fingers intertwining by default. “Is everything okay?” he asked so only I could hear, his expression falling serious for a moment.

I nodded with a short smile. “Yeah.”

On cue, Vegard returned, holding two glasses in each of his hands and a bottle of red wine under his arm. “There we go,” he commented as he began to place each of the objects on the table’s surface.

Helda joined us soon enough. Lunch was served, drinks were poured and the small talk was about to begin. I made sure to receive as small of a portion as was possible, and then proceeded to toss my food around the plate, taking the smallest bites for better effect. Faking appetite. No one paid attention to my plate as it was anyway. Their eyes were fixated on me and my every tiny movement, as they ironically ignored my presence and unlike Helda’s previous inquiries, took no interest in me whatsoever.

To a level, I was relieved. I wouldn’t have felt comfortable if I was forced to chitchat with Vegard. Helda was better, to a certain degree, although I had my suspicions behind her intentions; but I’d been cut off normal and polite society for too long, and therefore keeping up would be a challenge of its own. This was way better. Alongside, though, I felt a little bad for Bård who did his best to include me in every theme that was being discussed, and then pointedly worked to avoid the subject of his ex-fiancée for my sake. Or maybe he did it for himself, but I was nevertheless exceptionally glad not to have to hear anything about her. Not that I would actually mind, really, but it was the glance both Vegard and Helda shot me whenever such a subject would arise. A look of dismay I felt completely out of place. _I’d done nothing wrong!_

After a while they began to discuss work, something I was rather thankful for, and I calmly retreated to my own thoughts. Or, at least, I tried to. Helda took sudden interest in my presence at that exact point.

“So, tell me your story!” she sublimed with eyes completely locked with mine.

“My story?” I cited, not quite catching what she was aiming for.

“About you and Bård, of course.”

My mouth opened but no words would come. The two brothers had in the meanwhile switched to Norwegian, but when Bård’s hand squeezed my knee, I knew that he was following my conversation as well.

“Oh,” I finally uttered, but nothing wiser would come to me.

“I don’t mean to be nosy, I just—“

I cut her off. “It’s alright, I wasn’t—we, uh, we met a little more than a month ago during one of my gigs here in Norway,” I answered honestly, faintly looking at Bård from the corner of my eye, who proceeded to talk with his brother naturally.

“And we only met you just now?” she seemed rather stunned. “That’s odd. Bård brought Margit home only days after they renewed their relationship!”

I gawked at her wordlessly, blinking only twice. “Well, we didn’t see each other during that month.”

“Oh, whyever not?”

At this point I kicked Bård below the table, seeking support, who didn’t react as he was now intently focused on whatever he and Vegard were discussing.

“Well, I live in England and he lives in Norway,” I stated the obvious, becoming increasingly more irritated by the moment.

“Yes, but a full month?”

“We talked on the phone.”

“But the phone—“

“We met so randomly that it took a little time to get to know another,” I snapped in explanation. She didn’t seem to be taken aback by my tone at all. Perhaps it was what she had aimed for. “And once we’d talked enough, we decided it would be best to meet up again.”

“I’m sorry to pry, but you did break up his relationship, and I just thought—“

“ _I_ didn’t break his relationship up,” I interrupted to elaborate a little loudly, and so both the brothers snapped their heads towards me. “He did that on his own. I didn’t even know he was engaged, for fuck’s sake!” And at that point, I was simply pissed. _They just couldn’t get it in their heads, now could they?_ I was losing it, big time. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned—people say. _Oh, hell is coming down now…_

“Mary,” Bård all but whispered, his eyes searching for mine but I pointedly avoided his gaze. I was on the verge of tears, something that hadn’t happened to me in a long while. All the damn emotions within me, all this numbness spiced with unavoidable anger boiled up in my blood, especially at Bård’s stupid way of handling this entire situation, completely inconsiderate towards me. How could a simple lunch turn into an interrogation zone? I had done absolutely nothing wrong, and yet here I was, facing the verdict of a home-wrecker.

“But, Margit said—“ began Helda, but was interrupted by Bård.

“We don’t care what Margit said. We’re here now, you invited us, and if you can’t treat Mary nicely then maybe we should just leave,” snorted Bård in a voice full of rage, his eyes digging into Vegard's. Thus was signified the end of a calm Bård. I didn’t even have time to worry if my little mix could have a counter-effect.

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting a little?” snapped Vegard in return.

“ _Overreacting_?” quoted Bård mockingly. “I didn’t realize we’ve switched roles.”

Vegard took a deep breath, and then said calmly: “I’m only trying to help you, Bård. I’m trying to help you see what’s best for you.”

“We are _not_ having this conversation again,” exasperated the younger brother, shaking his head as his eyes flew up to the ceiling, right before falling back into his chair.

“Yes, we are, you need to—“

“I don’t need to do anything you say! We talked about this yesterday. I thought this lunch was meant to be your goddamn apology.”

“You need to open your eyes,” continued Vegard persistently, his voice stern and determined. “I am only trying to—“

“Don’t! Don’t even try to say it,” interrupted Bård, annoyed as well as irritated.

“I am—“

“You are _not_ trying to help me.”

“When the fuck did you go blind, Bård? Just fucking look at her!” shouted Vegard, and then all eyes fell on me. “Can’t you see it?”

Helda’s face was expressionless while Bård just inspected me closely with a furrowed forehead. She slowly whispered: “Vegard, calm down. Please don’t.” She presumably knew what this was all about and was trying to bring him down. Her words stayed unregistered. Was I the only one left out of this conversation? _What the hell was Vegard on about_? - I feverishly thought, slight panic overtaking me, and so I broke the silence, saying: “See what?” I demanded to know.

But everyone remained silent.

Then: “This is bullshit,” concluded Bård.

“See what?” I insisted, speaking a little louder this time around.

“Fucking bullshit,” murmured Bård, shaking his head.

“You can see it, can’t you?” exclaimed Vegard victoriously, now up on his feet, a weird form of smile playing with his lips. “Do you see what I’ve been trying to tell you?”

Bård turned to look up to his brother, uncharacteristically calm, his voice strangely low. “Do you know what I see when I look at her, Vegard? I see a woman who makes me happy. Why can’t you accept that? I am fucking happy at last, can’t you see that?”

“God,” spat Vegard through gritted teeth. “I can’t believe this. You’re acting like a little child!”

Now Bård was on his feet too, and I automatically reached for his wrist, trying to hold him back as he was clearly headed towards his brother. We did not need a reprise from the previous day’s scene. “You are freaking unbelievable. Look at me, Vegard! When is the last time you’ve seen me smile like this? When’s the—“

“She’s fucking high, Bård,” Vegard interrupted loudly. “Just look at her. She is high. Is this what you think will make you happy? A fucking drug addict? Is this what you left the mother of your child for?”

Piercing silence is what followed. Predictably, all eyes were on me once again as my heart sunk, my insides cringed and twirled and rising panic began to take complete control over me. I felt as though my entire world came crashing at those words, colliding my reality with something so completely wrong, so completely pretense and just— _Vegard is wrong. He has no freaking clue what he’s talking about,_ I furiously thought, unable to assemble the right words to retort anything, my slow tongue winning over.

“How dare you—“ began Bård but was cute off once more.

“ _Fuck_! This isn’t you, Bård! Open your goddamn eyes. What the hell is happening to you!?”

Before I could even bring myself to follow, as I was obviously very shocked, Bård shook off my tight grip on his wrist and hurried over to his brother. And then hit him in the face.

“What the hell is your problem?” screamed Vegard as he was getting off the ground, where he ended up after taking a punch for a truth that seemed a little bit overwhelming. And a truth that wasn’t correct at all! No, not the way it was put, not the sense it was meant in…

Bård stepped back a little, presumably trying to sort through his thoughts, to let the adrenaline rush ease down as well. My heart raced at the sight of the entire scenery, and for a moment I forgot to breathe. _Dear God, what have I done?_ As Bård’s heavy breathing was seemingly normalizing, he had a bizarre look in his eye. From what I knew well, it wasn't the first time that he quarreled with Vegard, but I had a feeling that this was the first argument of this magnitude. For a moment he looked extremely apologetic, but however, before getting the chance to utter anything of the kind, Vegard's rose in a swift motion and his fist found the way to Bård's mandible, knocking him down on the floor in equal payback.

It didn't stop at that, though. Bård's first attempt to get up didn't go so well, since Vegard smacked him towards the ground again, throwing himself over, determined to keep the fight going. For a moment, it looked as though they were strangling each other.

They started turning and twisting on the living room floor as if they were little boys again. Only this time it was no child's play and the punches were more painful than those of a tiny hand. As much as it hurt, none would surrender. None would give in and admit defeat. That pride of the boys—their stupid little pitiful pride. How could they think that things can be sorted out with a few punches?

Too stunned to do much else, I ran towards them. Helda followed my example, screaming some words along the way I could not understand. We both tried to do something to separate them, but no success was on the horizon. They were still on the ground, each giving and receiving blows one after the other. Upon a better look, I noticed that Bård's cheek had a visible cut, blood was sliding down his face as a result. His brother was no better, only his wound was on the lips, and his right eye began to visibly become darker. After Helda’s words fell dead into the air, she began to seriously freak out, up to a level when she actually ran to the other room. Without even trying to ask her to help me, I remained persistent in my means to separate them. However, as soon as I would come closer, one of them would jump or turn and push me away—at one point Vegard pushed me with such a force that I nearly ended up on the ground myself. That might have been his carelessness, but it had a lot to do with my poor balance as well. That Xanax was beginning to really alter my state, and obviously Bård’s as well.

It felt as though there was no way to make them part, considering that they didn't seem to register my screams at all. Stunned, panic-stricken, completely startled, my mind started to ponder and take the blame for everything. _What was I thinking? Why did I do it?_   While I was jumping like a monkey all over the room trying to break the painful groaning that echoed through the house, all I could fell was regret. Slipping him with those pills didn't seem like such an attractive plan at this point as it had when I had done it. As my mind tried to find a reasoning, I reminded myself that his nervousness was the key part in making the decision. All I had intended to do was help him, to ease up the whole situation… _My God, where was my mind? Jesus..._

The crack of Vegard's fist on Bård's left rib cage made me cut off this line of thoughts. Then, out of nowhere and definitely unexpectedly after such a punch, Bård's muscles tensed and he changed the forte of the fight. He was now over Vegard returning the blow with the same intensity and then a sound from the kitchen made me jump. A sound that was startling enough to distract me from this horrifying scene.

 _Where should I go now? What should I do?_ As my mind was weighing down the options and evaluating my choices, I pushed myself to think fast as I simply had to do something to make this stop. Torn between what I knew was bound to happen during the fight and what could have happened in the kitchen, I had to choose my way. In the middle of the chaos taking over this house, I realized that I could do no good to prevent the brothers from killing each other. They weren't even aware of the demolition which happened in the next room, entangled in their desire to hurt each other.

And so I ran to the kitchen. At the first glance it seemed as all was fine. Nothing broken could be spotted, no one appeared to be hurt or present at all. Although it had actually sounded like a tank had hit the house. _Were the pills making me hear things now?_ I needed the cure or the pill, whatever; since I expected quite a distorted and edgy lunch, but tragedy was the last thing I had on my mind. Ignoring all these thoughts and trying my best to focus on the situation, I established that everything in the kitchen was just perfect, I hurried to make my way to see what could be done about the fight.

Accidentally and entirely spontaneously, I turned my head to the left and there was she. Helda was outstretched on the tiles, with shattered dishes all around her. _Oh, so that’s what I heard_ , was the first thought that came to me, while in a running motion I knelt next to her. I shook her and called her by name to see if she would react, but I had no reply in return and thus my panic rose even more—if that was even possible. I immediately jumped off my feet and hurried to return to the fighting ring. _Now they are going to have to listen to me._ Without much thought, I ran back to the dining room, positioned myself as closely to the brothers as was possible without getting hurt myself, and gathering my full strength I screamed: “Fucking stop that shit right now, you bloody morons. Something is wrong with Helda!"

And the necessary effect was presented—the brothers froze in place. At these words Vegard jumped up, with his bloody lip and trembling hands he turned over to me, with a quivering voice asking: “What happened? Where is she?”

“She passed out in the kitchen,” I told him, trying to keep my voice at bay but it gave out all the alarm within me.

Without a word or anything else, Vegard ran to where his girlfriend laid unconscious on the floor, and I hurried over Bård. “Are you okay?” I asked him immediately, both of my hands on his shoulders, trying to evaluate how badly he was hurt. I was knelt beside where he sat on the floor.

He didn’t reply my question, instead groaned and buried his face into his palms, saying: “What the hell just happened?” Confusion was traceable all over his voice, in fact it sounded as though he could begin to cry in any given moment.

“Oh Bård, I’m so sorry,” I said, salty tears of my own finally rolling down my cheek in a perfect flow. Not knowing what else to do, I circled my arms around him, pulling into as warm of a hug as I could manage, one he didn’t return until a good amount of ten seconds passed. We remained in that position for an undefinable period of time, me crying while he just sat there motionless, in an obvious state of shock.

“I feel so dizzy,” he told me, tightening his grip around me, pulling me so close to him that I could barely catch a breath. I hugged him harder in response, my hand caressing the back of his head as I tried to calm myself down.

As the sound of an ambulance came to blast into the air, all I could think of was: _What the hell have I done?_


	14. Sentiments

It is very unusual for people to like hospitals. The smell of medicine mixed with a steamy air of sickness, the sight of people in pain, or rather their injuries painted in bruises and blood, and then the other group of people who just wait for a cure that might not even exist, or the ones who are there to support their family, many in agony over the possible loss of their loves ones; none of it could compete to be pleasant. And then the whole scenery of doctors rushing through, the overwhelming stress that is etched in their entire presence, spreading throughout the full complex of the building—yes, people are by nature repulsed by hospitals.

I was no exception.

But despite the entire dislikable atmosphere, or even the crazy events that lead me there, the origin of my main distress was caused by something that was—although related to the whole situation—very shallow in comparison to the bigger consequences. It had nothing (or actually, everything) to do with the pills I had consumed earlier on. No—it was the fact that over half an hour had passed, and I was still all _alone_ in the waiting area. And not just alone per se, because that would have been fine, but also unreasonably lonely. Actually, it could have been a lot worse, had I known Helda a little better or actually cared about her state whatsoever, however I was too revolved around myself to even consider what it was like for Vegard or her. I couldn’t fail to accept that their stress was greater than mine.

I did not blame myself for feeling so upset over a simple statement—an individual opinion at that—and I did not feel guilty that I didn’t wonder if they were okay. In fact, that was rather odd, because one of the main reasons I kept my distance from people was my immense, unavoidable compassion. Many times had I found myself far too concerned over the problems of those around me, rather than my own, even to a level that resulted many sleepless nights. But after the way they had attacked me—actually it was only Vegard who did it, but they came in a package as far as my thoughts were concerned—I could not bring myself to ponder over their well-being. I was too busy pondering over what had been said instead.

 _A drug-addict?_ I didn’t expect a lot from the man, to be sure, but for him to step that low was a completely different story. For a moment there, I could actually understand his intent to protect his brother and his attempt to share his own perspective, all the while being judgmental when it came to me – a woman he knew so little about, but with that rushed conclusion of his, based on so little facts, was beyond my comprehension. In fact, those little facts that stood by his side were actually stereotypes. How could he just presume that I fit into the popular belief of a lifestyle that a rock-musician led? Was he really that concerned about Bård to sink to the worst case scenario?

Excuses for his behavior I could not find, and thus stuck to my conviction that what he had said was outrageous. Perhaps—or actually definitely—the whole fight shouldn’t have taken place, as it was damn useless and ridiculous, but I couldn’t help but feel thankful that Bård stuck by me to such an extent. Protected me, even…

Thus another concern dawned upon me. Could Bård actually believe what his brother had said? After all, he knew me well, but that was nothing compared to a lifelong companionship. I couldn’t bring myself to consider this subject any further, as each time my turmoil would go in that direction, a sinking feeling would overtake me and my heart would start to pound uncontrollably. I reasoned that he knew me long enough to create his own opinion, and even though we hadn’t gotten to discuss my occasional drug usage just yet, he must have noticed it himself. It was not something I was ashamed of or hid in any way. Except for that one time when I had fainted, of course… Right in front of him, at that, so of course he must have had a pretty good idea of how that came to me. Except for the fact that I lied…

What was going on in his head, right there when he was being checked over while I sat waiting on a bench? Did he yearn to rejoin me as much as I already missed his presence? Did he regret the fight to a level that he wished I wasn’t here? Although I sincerely hoped that was not the case, a part of me just wanted to get up and run far away and return to England, to forget about everything. Even all of the good moments that helped me surpass my loneliness, as they managed to distance me from my isolation from people, thus imminently adding to my confusion.

And exactly when I decided to stand up and walk around a little at the very least, to somehow ease my nerves, Bård excited the ER, walking next to a doctor, intently focused on the conversation they were having. His eyes flicked over and noticed my presence, but he proceeded to nod at the doctor while I just stood there motionless, taking in his every tiny movement. His forehead was furrowed with concentration and his eyes were narrowed with understanding, but his foot tapped rather timidly and he didn’t seem anything but impatient. And oh, the things I felt… fear, panic, sadness, but also pure joy at the sight of him, which managed to make my heart race with completely different palpitations than those it was submitted to only moments prior.

As soon as the doctor moved away, his gaze was redirected and looked at me and only me. I could not decipher his expression. Pain? Anger? Confusion? My feet began to make their own way, and before I could fall even deeper in desperation, his arms were around me so tightly, his chest evenly subsiding against me.

“Oh, Bård,” I whispered, and there were the tears again, sliding down my face without my consent.

He didn’t say anything, just held me, his gentle fingers stroking my hair back and forth, making me feel complete again, extinguishing all the alarm that had risen within me. For a short infinity, everything was perfectly alright.

But I knew I had to pull away and let go of that momentary conviction that things were okay. Wiping my wet cheeks in a brisk motion, and stepped back to face him. “Are you alright?” asked my weak voice, all queasy and raspy.

It took him a few moments to begin talking. “Oh God, I’m so sorry about that, Mary. I don’t know what got into me. I swear—“ he stopped himself after that sentence spoken in one breath, looking away, shaking his head in a form of disbelief.

“Hey, it’s okay, there’s nothing to apologize for,” I soothed, reaching for his wounded cheek with my hand, very gently. The cut looked a lot less serious just then, in comparison to the bloody mess that was painted over his face earlier. There was some sort of crème all over it, and the very fact that there was no bandage to cover it up made me relax. My fingers slid to his chin, and I lightly pulled his head towards me, my eyes striving to lock with his.

But he avoided my gaze. “I didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand,” he continued, his grip on me becoming extremely loose. “I just—I don’t even know!”

Now he was upset, and he didn’t deserve it in any way. So I took one of his hands in both of mine, gently squeezing his fingers as I said: “Let’s sit down over there and talk about this calmly, okay?”

He had no words in response to my suggestion, instead he just lead us both to the bench where I had sat as I waited for him. When he took his seat, he let go of me, bringing his elbows to his thighs as his head fell into his palms freely. His fingers tangled into his hair and I could hear him exhale a long breath. Only seconds later he looked up at me, a faint smile traceable on his lips. And then a frown. “I wish you didn’t have to see that,” he simply said.

“Oh Bård,” I sighed sadly, my hand searching for his to connect with once more. Out of all the things he could say and out of all the things he could think, he was concerned about me and I felt overwhelmed by such a gentle feeling I could not describe. “Don’t worry about me, please, I’m… I’m not the one you should be concerned about.”

“They’re fine—both of them,” he justified automatically.

“I meant you,” I corrected him with a soft smile. “Are _you_ alright?”

“I’m fine—“ but then he stopped abruptly. He looked away again, distancing himself in his own thoughts for a moment. When he turned back to me, his expression was unreadable. “I’m not okay. I’m not. I just… I’m just so confused, Mary. What is happening to me?”

 _Goodness, what have I done?_ The same thought struck me for the millionth time that day, and along it tears started to well up in my eyes. “I’m so, _so_ sorry Bård,” I whispered, wanting to push myself forward, to dig my face into his neck, to have him hug me in his own special way so I could feel complete once again, so everything would be alright. But instead I just stood there as my vision was blurred by the tears, or rather my pain, staring forward into a blank point, drowning in guilt.

And then he did exactly what I wanted him to do. I was in his embrace, shaking into muffled sobs, while he soothed me as he held me, repeating: “It’s not your fault, none of it is your fault,” gently in my ear. But it was. It was my fault completely and I couldn’t even come clean, I couldn’t even bring myself to tell him everything in hope he would understand, even maybe forgive me. He was so good to me and I didn’t deserve any of it.

So I pulled away once again, wiping the tears with the back of my hand. “Oh God, I’m such a mess,” I murmured, as something was beginning to tighten my chest, making each new breath more difficult than the previous to inhale.

“I mean it,” he told me firmly, his hands suddenly cupping my face, making sure our eyes were locked. “And you better believe me. It is _not_ your fault.”

“But you—“

“It is not your fault,” he repeated, interjecting sternly. “ _I_ chose to let you into my life and _I_ made all the wrong decisions that lead to this fucking mess. If I had only—“

“Oh Bård,” I uttered for God knows which time.

“I mean, what was I thinking? I should have told Vegard all about you. And everything else. About Margit, about the night in the club, about the next day—I should’ve just told him, Mary. I’ve always told him everything.” His hands now fell into his lap, and another shaky breath escaped him. “You know, we’ve never fought. Not like this—never like this. Teasing punches don’t count. And look at me now, Mary. Look at what I’ve done,” he exclaimed, his agitated voice sounding so broken that another set of tears began to build up in my eyes. “I ruined it. I ruined everything. I broke our harmony, our understanding… and for what?”

Gulping at his words, I knew I had the answer to his question. “For me,” I quietly said, but in a determined voice I could not avoid.

And then his hands grabbed mine. “Oh no, Mary—no! Please, don’t say that. Don’t make this harder than it is. You know I—“ and then he stopped abruptly, deciding against whatever he meant to claim.

“I’m so sorry—“

His grip tightened, smashing my fingers. “No, I will not hear you say that again.” And then his lips captured mine in a most gentle, trembling kiss, making me feel even more guilty if that was at all possible. With my eyes closed, I just wanted to disappear somewhere far away from here, somewhere where only Bård and I would exist and none of this mess could have been possible.

“Please,” he whispered once we parted only barely, “don’t blame yourself for this.”

And then silence. Silence that existed only in my head and somehow made me feel deaf to all the noise that surrounded me, and instead made me focus on that one thought that just wouldn’t go away: _What have I done_? I just couldn’t—wouldn’t—tell Bård anything. Not after he asked me not to, not after a certain truth started to sink in. The truth of how different our lives were and how we could never make it work like this…

Bård had his brother, his family, his job, his friends—everything that indicated a life full of people, of socializing, and basically a life so opposite from mine. He actually took his time to form relationships with people, even stopped to talk to his fans, whereas I just avoided any kind of human contact. I didn’t have friends, could barely stand my roommate, was as distant from my colleagues as possible, and I certainly didn’t associate with the small number of fans my band had. I drank with them, got high with them and slept with them. Never made any unproductive conversation with anyone. Just kept my distance from the real world, instead withdrawing to my own little reality. A reality that now longed for this man, but couldn’t find a rational way to fit him in.

It wasn’t just the way we handled people differently, but our whole lives, really. Although we found so many points in common and got along insanely well, there was no avoiding the fact that we could barely fit into a same frame. He admired my passions and I liked his, but they didn’t belong together. That wasn’t solid ground for such closeness that we submitted ourselves to. We didn’t even seek fun in the same things…

Was Bård aware of that as well? I couldn’t dare myself to bring the whole subject up. Instead I just looked into his eyes, wishing he would just read my thoughts and somehow fix everything.

But that was impossible.

“How is Helda?” I asked eventually, having nothing better to say.

“She’s okay. It wasn’t the first time that’s happened to her. She can’t stand the sight of blood, and I suppose she really panicked when… things got so out of hand.”

“And you? And Vegard? Did the doctor say everything was okay?”

“Vegard’s fine. I’ve got a cracked rib, but it’s nothing serious. A few weeks and it will be fine. All I have to do is take things easy.”

“Oh Bård…” I sighed, and almost apologized again, remembering just in time that he specifically asked me not to.

And there it was: “Well he shouldn’t have said what he said,” reasoned Bård calmly.

The subject was bound to come up, and I dreaded every moment of it. I had nothing to say, nothing to add, instead just lowered my chin, exhaling heavily.  

“I’m sorry about that,” he said gently, “Sometimes he just can’t hold his tongue.”

“Oh,” is what I uttered.

“Don’t take it seriously. I’m sure he didn’t mean it,” Bård continued slowly. He then sighed, and these next words I assumed where spoken more to soothe himself than me: “He’ll come around eventually. I’ll handle it on my own—it’s done no good involving you. Don’t worry about him, please.”

“I—“ I began, but paused to think over my words. I couldn’t afford to fail phrasing what I meant to state. Sucking in a little air, I continued. “I’m not high,” I told him honestly, because by then the Xanax had indeed completely lost its effect. _And I wasn’t high at all, really… those were pills for anxiety, prescribed by a doctor and I… needed them._ As my thoughts searched for a reasoning that would excuse my behavior, I concluded what Vegard had said was exaggerated in any case. Bård was right— _I shoudn’t take him seriously._

“I know, Mary,” Bård said softly, leaning in for another hug. His lips placed gentle kisses all over my cheek, completely forgetting that we were out in the open, completely forgetting the whole scandal from before. As he didn’t seem to take notice of our surroundings, I inwardly prayed that no one would snap a picture or recognize the brothers. For his sake more than mine.

“And,” I finally made myself say, drawing in a large breath, “I’m not saying that I’ve never been high.” At those words he raised his head, meeting me with an expression that was surprisingly incredibly calm. “Sometimes I do like to have fun that way, yes, but that’s only sometimes, and Vegard was—“

“Wrong,” finished Bård for me. “I know. It’s alright. I understand, I mean—I can try to understand. We can talk about it if you want to, but let’s just get out of here for now, okay?”

I nodded with a weak smile. And then frowned. “But your car, and my things, it’s all at his house, and…”

“You know what? We’ll just take a cab, we’ll go to my house, and then I’ll go to his place, I’ll tell him everything about you and me, and you can just rest at home, okay?”

“But Bård, it’s—“

“I’ll handle it calmly, I promise,” he assured me. “And I’ll be quick. And then we have the whole night to ourselves, and whole day long tomorrow. I’ll make it up to you for this mess.”

I paused to read his expression. He was completely serious, and I couldn’t very well ask him to stay with me instead. He had bigger problems than that, problems the begged to be resolved. So I nodded again.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” I echoed with a smile.

Hand in hand, we exited the hospital to be met by the cold air outside.

In the back seat of the cab, we sat cuddled next to one another, but my mind wandered off far away. It was a twenty minute drive, and Bård kept drifting in and out of sleep, making it all the more easier for me to get lost in my thoughts. I went through the same things, over and over, uselessly worrying over what had happened and couldn’t be changed. In my head I replayed these two days I spent in Norway, trying to remember what my life had been like before that. It felt as though a century had passed—all my thoughts and feelings from before were so seemingly distant, unreachable. A life before Bård became at that point unimaginable.

I looked up at him. His eyes were closed and he looked so peaceful, like an angel. _My angel_. I wondered if he would have been able to fall asleep if I hadn’t slipped him those pills. And, would he had fought for me like that? To protect my pride—or his own at that as well—from his brother? The lunch would have had a completely different script written had I not been so foolish. After all, that had been my main intention, to alter Bård’s perception a little… but it all very well backfired on me. Did he really not see that it was my fault, all of it? Was he really unaware that he’d been acting so irrational because, well, something was streaming into his system? Watching him sleep like that, I realized that maybe he didn’t want to believe that I was a bad addition to his life.

He needed me. He needed support, he needed a woman that would help him swift through his break up more easily, he needed me to make him feel special, and he surely needed a good distraction from his life for a while. I was exactly that—a distraction, a woman who fell for him so easily that it was visible even when a sea parted us. But what would that mean when his life would settle? The end of whatever it was between us? Certainly, that was the only logical conclusion I could come across. He could find someone more suitable for him than me at any given moment…

And I needed more of that Xanax.

In fact, that was the first thing I reached for when Bård dropped me off at his house. He walked me to the door—the front door actually, this time around—kissed me very tenderly and got back into the cab. I couldn’t even worry anymore. I was so, so tired of over-thinking, of trying to make sense out of things, of trying to make things work…

And three pills later, I forgot about all of that, as my mind gave way to unavoidable sleep.

In my dream, I wandered into unfamiliar woods, all on my own, completely lost. I didn’t scream and I didn’t panic. I was completely calm, aware that my secluded mess of a life was far out of reach, and instead just enjoyed every moment. And then, Bård’s voice reached me, calling my name so softly…

“Hey,” he said quietly with that beautiful smile of his, as soon as I opened my eyes.

“Oh, hey,” I mumbled in my barely awoken voice. “Jesus, did I fall asleep?”

Bård nodded in confirmation. “I guess you did.”

“Oh,” I groaned, right before he lowered himself to give me a kiss. He was crouched right next to where I was stretched all over the sofa, as there was no space for him to take a seat.

When he broke away, he said: “You should’ve gone to the bed at least.”

“And leave this precious sofa behind? Oh no!” I tried to joke, but my voice sounded so wrong and out of place.

He laughed nevertheless. “It is expensive, but very uncomfortable.”

“Ah,” I sighed, then began to sit up. My head felt too heavy for my body. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” I admitted, “I was just waiting for you.”

“It’s alright,” he told me, sitting right next to me, as I had now made him enough room to do so. “I just got a little worried when I got back in and got no response when I called your name. It took me some time to find you here. I thought you…” he trailed off, but I knew exactly what was on his mind.

“Oh no, Bård, you didn’t really think I’d leave just like that, did you?” My arms circled him automatically, and before I knew it I was hugging him tightly, so firmly as if my life depended on that hug.

He exhaled as he returned my embrace. “I didn’t, but after everything that happened today… and I was gone so long—I just didn’t know what to think back there for a split second.” His lips left traces all over my hair, as it was the only spot that was reachable for them.

“Goodness, how long was I asleep?” I wondered loudly, feeling a heavy pain spreading all over my head.

“I was at Vegard’s for, I don’t know, maybe three hours…”

That was damn long. I surely blacked out without even noticing. “How did things go over there?”

“I think things are finally okay between me and him. He finally listened to me, tried to understand.”

As his grip on me loosened up, I pulled away. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

A smile spread over his lips. “Yeah. But do you want me to get you anything first? A glass of water? Maybe some tea?” I shook my head no, not wanting him to step away for even a second. “You look a little pale…”

“I guess this day has drained me completely,” I reasoned with a smile. “But I’m fine—really. Tell me.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said before letting out another long, heavy breath. He seemed a little thoughtful before he began. “When I got there he was a little confused, saying he didn’t expect me to come around so soon. Saying he was glad I could finally see you weren’t right for me.” At that I frowned consciously, but he just encouraged me with another smile. “I told him he was wrong. I told him about all the shit between Margit and me—most of it he knew, but he didn’t know how horrible the last few weeks of our relationship had been. I told him everything. Didn’t omit a single detail. About how she was blaming me for everything, waited up every single night I returned late from work, claiming that I was cheating on her constantly—I suppose it was just her fear that I was doing what she had done to me.”

Those things he hadn’t told me before, at least not in so many words. “Oh Bård…”

“Yeah, well, Vegard seemed a little shocked to hear that. Told me she went over to their house, telling Helda and him how much she missed the way we used to be so close, how she was trying to make things work and I wasn’t… just fucking bullshit. I’m certain she would have left me long ago if her boyfriend wasn’t so disappointed she was carrying my child,” he widened his eyes at that, shaking his head as though it had only now come to his realization, but pointedly avoided meeting my eye. “And I told him that when I met you, I felt… God, I don’t even know what I felt. I guess you were just something new for me then, something I hadn’t seen before, up on that stage, so independent and passionate about your music…”

By then he was looking at me, so lovingly, and I just reached for his hand, taking it in both of mine.

“I guess I just needed a fresh start, and you gave me one, in a way,” he continued, tracing circles with his thumb against the back of my hand. “I guess you just came into my life in the right moment, you know. I told him about our phone calls, that we kept in touch ever since we met, that you didn’t just come here out of nowhere—it was all planned. It was what I wanted to happen. I told him how easy it is for me to talk to you, how we understand each other all the time, how fun it is to be around you, and the way you make me feel… _complete_ again. Like there was some part of me missing and then you just found it.”

“Oh Bård,” I mumbled softly, my voice weak, completely forgetting about my headache, instead just focusing on his eyes and the small glimmer they held as he spoke these words.

“He understood,” he carried on, “he understood that you were not just a random fan that got me into bed, or whatever it was he was thinking. And about what he said earlier—about the drugs… He actually asked me if I’ve started to take any myself—he really pissed me off.” My mouth dropped and I was about to speak, but then he hurried to add: “But I was calm, I swear, just like I promised I would be,” he reassured me, now cupping his other hand over both of mine. “I told him that it’s not true and that even if you did get high sometimes—like you said—it’s your choice and none of his business.”

“Thank you,” I said quietly, truly grateful for understanding me so well, for seeing the truth. Goodness, I was not a drug addict in any case, and Vegard was probably just looking for an excuse to take Bård away from me. To bring him back to Margit, whom they all seemed to like so much more than me… That started to clear things up in my head, reliving me from my guilt only by a little bit. “We could talk about that if you want, I don’t want to keep anything from you,” I suggested in my new found confidence. “About the drugs, I mean.”

“We could, if you want to,” he agreed with a smile. “But later. I just want to tell you everything I told Vegard first.”

“Okay.” I leaned in to kiss him lightly, and then pulled away so he could continue talking.

“Do you know what made him finally really listen to what I had to say about you? When I told him about this connection between us. How we both felt it since day one and how rare it is to come across such a thing in a man’s lifetime. He asked me if I ever felt that way about Margit, and I told him that no—I haven’t, not for a long while at the least. We met when we were both very young, me and her, and I suppose that resulted into so many consequences eventually. But I was well aware of what I was doing and feeling when I came to visit you at the hotel. I just felt like I had to, you know? Like we had some sort of story going on, and that it didn’t finish when you fainted in the club,” at that point my cheeks started to heat up, but Bård was too involved in his monologue to notice. “I had to see for myself where this feeling would lead me. And I told all of that to Vegard, and he understood. It lead me here, with you next to me, and it just feels so right.”

He paused there, searching for something in my eyes, but I just remained wordless, unable to utter anything. For so long had I pondered over this silly feeling of a connection, and although we had talked about it a couple of times over the phone, it felt so good to hear him say it just then, and to have it told to his brother. It made me feel much more special, much more than the distraction I felt I was earlier. Not just a random woman, not a crazed fan, but a person he felt worthy enough to at last tell his closest companion about. And in such an overwhelming way, at that…

“Doesn’t it feel right, Mary?” he asked me softly.

I just nodded plainly as tears started to blur my vision once more for the day. Goodness, I hadn’t cried for so long, and now it was like I was bursting into tears every five minutes like a little child. They didn’t go unnoticed, either.

“Hey, no tears,” Bård soothed, his voice barely above a whisper. He freed his hands from my grip in order to envelop my face, his fingers so gentle against my damp skin. “This is good, Mary, it’s really good,” and then he was kissing me again, so slowly and softly that I just melted in response, wishing for this wonderful feeling to stay forever.

“And do you want to know what I told him before I left?” he whispered, his face only inches away from mine. I just dug into his eyes, unable to think or do anything else. I searched for the words he prolonged saying, words I feared could crush my world. Words that bore a potential to deny everything he had said earlier. But they didn’t. His expression was completely serious when he said: “I told him that I… that I’m falling in love with you, Mary Laine.”

I couldn’t breathe.

That was a statement I least expected to hear and my body provided a response that resembled my feelings fully. My heart started to pound like crazy—I could actually hear my own pulse, my hands trembled where they remained around his neck, my stomach seemed to be inhibited by unknown creatures that decided to take up a race at that exact moment, and my mouth—it dropped open, my lips trying to form words I could not think of.

And he waited. He waited for me to respond, his expression almost nervous and his eyes full of questions, glistening with, what—hope? He wanted me to say it back, didn’t he? But it’d been so long since I ever dared to speak such words, since I even allowed myself to feel that way, and now I didn’t know what I felt at all at that too. I was so confused, so lost, and there was he, right there in front of me, making me forget about my inner mess, making me feel complete, and… then I knew, I was certain, and my lips spread into a shaky grin as I prepared myself to feel happy, to allow so much joy in my system I would not know what to do with.

“I love you,” the words just escaped me, and only a moment later he was kissing me, entangling his tongue with mine as his hands stoked my back without control, pulling me closer and closer to him until there was absolutely no space between us. And I was shaking under his touch, but he didn’t seem to notice, instead just carried on to kiss me hungrily, as if we hadn’t kissed in years, as if we had no more time to be together. As if this was the moment we had been waiting for in our entire lifetime.

I didn’t even really notice him move, but then there were clothes being thrown all over, so hastily and without any thought, and before I knew it, he was on top of me, in me. It was so fast, so wild. There was no gentle touching, no sweet phrases, just an immediate need to him to have him deep inside me. A need he felt equally. Blind passion, demand and submission thundered together, with his pounding thrusts bringing me to the edge of a climax, but it was too hard, too fast and then Bård was coming, crying out my name and as he exploded in me. That didn’t stop him though, and as he rocked me with more gentle thrusts, he slipped his hand down between us for the touch that took me over the edge in an orgasm that was so hard, so deep, it was almost frightening. Then I cried, an explosion of hard gasping sobs of emotion too long held back.

As our breathing evened and our bodies settled, he held me and told me over and over that he loved me, that we would find a way make things work. Slowly his voice and his hands soothed me and I fell asleep exhausted, held tightly in his embrace.

Everything felt unmistakably perfect and things seemed to fall right into place. But a suspicious voice in the back of my subconscious whispered: _how long could they remain like that?_


	15. A Promise

Being in love was less frightening than I expected. Having finally admitted it to myself, I came to the realization that I had fallen for Bård much longer ago than I began to let on. Actually, it happened quite gradually, with each new conversation and each new kiss; he made sure I was his and his only. I hadn’t even considered hooking up with anyone else since I met him, and in my case that spoke heaps. But such speedy feelings, as intense and as overwhelming as they were, they had started their process of inhibiting me for a while now, perpetually disguising themselves, assuring that I was quite unaware of what they were. All that confusion I went through, the sleepless nights of wondering over my obsession with a man—all of that was settled with a simple “I love you.” And that moment we shared was something I couldn’t get out of my head. If someone had told me the conclusion was that easy to come by I wouldn't have believed a single word, but my life might have been so much easier in this previous month. All of a sudden, everything began to make sense. All the puzzle pieces fit.

I wanted to ask Bård if he had known it all along. However, somehow I wasn’t prepared to hear his reply, no matter what it might have been, so instead I just savored every single moment in his arms, and each of his kisses that made me feel loved like I had never been before. In his embrace, it was as though he could make me sail through a sea of trembling. I had never felt such powerful emotions, merely caused by touch.

Although the previous two days seemed to last an eternity, this one last day of my stay slipped away in the a blink of an eye. We spent too much time asleep, and then cuddling and having sweet, pointless conversations in his bed. Pointless or not, those were one of the best conversations I had ever shared with anyone, easily ranked. I recall the way my heart sailed when he gently spoke, caressing my hair with his slender fingers. It was already noon when we finally left the bedroom, but it only felt like a few hours had passed since we finally resolved that we were in love with each other.

Bård was hungry enough to drag us out of bed, and somehow even I craved some food—after all, our activities ought to have worn me out of energy after a while.

He suggested that we go out to eat, so I could see a little of the city as I was, after all, a tourist, but I estimated that it would be a quite unnecessary tour, regarding the little time we had left. I was, of course, quite flattered that he no longer feared to be discovered by the press with me. Although, I myself still believed that it was a needed precaution to watch out for paparazzi, as Bård’s judgment was now based on his feelings instead of his rational perception, and that eventually he might come to regret if the whole world knew of our relationship. A relationship we hadn’t quite settled just yet… Everything seemed right in the moment, but things have indeed a tendency to change over time. Despite my hope that they wouldn’t, I was well aware of everything that could go wrong at any given moment. In a way, my conscience was already preparing for all of this to end, because it was simply too damn flawless to keep on going forward, even when all the bumps along the way could be dodged.

We ate bread and yogurt, both of us well aware that we couldn’t prepare anything more luxurious. Although I had my suspicions that Bård could handle the kitchen much better than I would in my best attempt, I didn’t dare to challenge him, mostly because it would be another part of an hour wasted, even though all of the time seemed to just fly away nonetheless…

He didn’t fail, however, to emphasize that he was a master when it came to preparing baby-food. Being a father had its perks, I concluded, but at that moment I couldn’t imagine Bård with a child. In fact, I _never_ could picture him with a daughter in his arms, to speak honestly. It felt like a truth far away, a reality I had not yet encountered and wasn’t quite sure how I would react once I did. It was like another life of his that didn’t blend with mine. It was as if I never knew of that life, never registered any of it, his past; even though I knew some of the particulars and he did bring up Lene every now and then throughout our random conversations, because no matter how fulfilling my visit might have been, he missed his daughter immensely. I could understand that, even though the notion of a child never struck me as attractive as it did him. During the previous month, he had seen her only twice, very shortly at that too, all the while he fought with her mother. It wasn’t ideal, to be sure. But we both avoided such unpleasant subjects, preferring to just gloat in happiness for as long as was possible.

But I did see his little girl. There were pictures of her, framed all over the house. She looked so much like her father, having inherited his fine features in an adorable way. Another little angel. It was at that moment when it hit me that I had never thought about having children myself. Surely, such thoughts always remain in the back of one’s head to some extent, but for me it had always been a possibility of “One day, maybe…” Knowing the man I loved had a family behind him brought short-lasting crisis in my brain, but I purposely pushed it away, aware that it was currently very unnecessary. In fact, I thought little of it all while I was here, a tactic that proved itself best. I’d have more than sufficient time to reconsider all of this once I was back in England.

“I will miss you so much,” Bård told me when we retreated to the balcony, where my nicotine cravings had brought us. Those were words that brought pain to my heart, probably because it was the way I felt as well.

“Ah, I know,” I said sighing, taking another puff of my halfway burnt cigarette, blowing out the smoke only seconds later. In my stiff position, I wished time would somehow slow down. “Let’s not think about that. Not now, at least…”

“But it’s true,” he perpetuated in spite of my words, “I don’t want you to go away.”

I gave him a lingering, sad smile, reciprocating his feelings to the fullest. “I don’t want to go either,” I agreed in a taut voice. “But you know I have to.”

He opened his mouth to utter something, but then stopped himself as if those words could potentially raise a hurricane. Placing an elbow upon the table before us, his head fell into his palm, all the while his eyes remained on me, watching me constantly in a melancholic gaze. “You never told me how long your tour will last,” he noted after a short while.

“I didn’t?” I asked, surprised. We had talked about so much and yet still shared so little. “A little more than three weeks,” I informed him.

“That’s not too long, is it?” remarked Bård after another small amount of thoughtfulness.

I nodded in conjunction with another drag. “Yeah, but not too short either, I suppose.”

Bård exhaled notably. “I wish I could join you. Or just visit you, maybe stay through a gig or two. But, my show must go on,” he conducted dramatically, and a little too sardonically for my taste.

Goodness, could I feel his pain. “It’s a job. Both yours and mine,” I reasoned quite simply. “Has to be done.”

“It would be easier to hate it if neither of us enjoyed doing them,” he concluded, and then laughed shortly. I returned a giggle, happy to see his expression lightening up. “So damn lucky and unlucky at the same time.”

My cigarette was all burned out so I smashed it in an ashtray. “We’ll figure something out,” I said, more to myself than him.

“Promise me something,” he then said in a sudden heat, a serious expression taking over, locking our eyes together.

I was a little skeptical, but I couldn’t deny him. Not when he addressed me that look. I was never a sentimental girl, but that pout of his could bring down mountains. I would at that point agree to anything that came out his mouth. “Okay…”

“Promise me you’ll fly over here, as soon as your tour is over. And then in a few more weeks, my show will be over and I could come and stay with you for a while.”

At that quickly devised plan, I could only sigh. It was quite apparent that it hadn’t been a rapid suggestion, and that he had given it some thought earlier. But it made sense—that I couldn’t deny. I would have nothing to do once the tour would end, and I would undoubtedly want to be with him. And even though making decisions for something that was so far away bothered me, I told him anyway: “I’ll do it. I’ll take the first plane I can catch, and I’ll be back in your arms sooner than you can imagine.” Soon after the words had escaped me, I realized that I’d expressed far too many feelings into that line. I never did that. It was sort of forbidden and I certainly avoided it... Well, thus far.

His chest seemed to subside as he leaned over to hold me, giving me a lingering, tender hug I knew I would miss very much.

What we did next was shower, together again, but the air seemed to become heavier with every nearing moment to my departure and the whole process felt too sad. As the water poured over us, we held each other tightly for an undefinably long period of time. No playfulness, no sex, just two people who didn’t want to let each other go. I had my face buried in his neck, and a few tears slowly mixed with the steaming water on my face. I didn’t want him to see me so torn up again, so vulnerable, so I pushed those emotions aside with a promise I would get back to them as soon as I was alone.

I couldn’t believe I had allowed my emotions to twist and twirl beyond my control. What happened to my blissful detachment from feelings? How could a single man manage to change me up to the core? In a way, I knew it was exactly what I wanted and needed in my life, but on the other hand, I wasn’t quite prepared just yet. I never thought I would be ready for that, and now it seemed that everything just happened too quickly. I felt like I needed more time, to take in the whole possibility of a relationship and love, to brace the whole concept of sharing my life with another person. Everything evolved so rapidly between us.

And Bård… maybe it wasn’t even him I wanted—although I definitely wanted him—but maybe it was only that he had entered my life in the right moment; exactly as he had put it himself the previous day. Maybe I’d finally admitted to myself that I needed a person next to me, and he somehow became that, but then again, we hadn’t even sat down to discuss what was going on between us, at least not as directly as I wished we would. We proclaimed loved and made plans together in the near future, but never stopped to make any promises or serious decisions.

However, that was another subject I couldn’t make myself bring up. And goodness, there were so many of those.

“What do you wanna do?” Bård would ask every now and then as it kept getting later and later, as we just sat pointlessly all the time, snuggling and kissing while the atmosphere was sprinted with an air of depression.

But I never had a suitable reply. “I don’t know,” I mumbled the same answer again, and he sighed above me. “Tell me something nice.”

“Something nice?” he asked, and I just nodded my confirmation against his chest where I lay. “Hmm, something nice,” he repeated, taking his time to consider a story, while I waited patiently as my fingers grazed his skin up and down very lightly. “Let’s see… When Vegard and I were children, we lived in Africa. Our father found a very good job there, so I suppose it was logical. There was a war going on though, so we couldn’t leave the house. I think that’s why we understand each other so well even now, you know, because we had no one else to learn from. So we learned from each other,” he paused shortly, and I couldn’t help but smile. I loved the way he told a story, so lightly and yet so passionately in his own way. 

“One day,” he resumed, “When dad came from work, he brought us a guitar. It wasn’t really a guitar, now that I think of it, but it was too big to be a toy. I guess it was something like a mix between a toy and a real guitar. It had these thick plastic strings. But I fell in love with it—I’m telling you, it was my very first love.”

I giggled brightly at that statement, and sat up a little so I could have a better view of him as he talked.

“We didn’t know how to play it, of course,” he continued, chuckling, interlacing our fingers together now that I no longer laid against him. “We didn’t even know how to tune it. But Vegard was the big brother of course, and he had only me and our parents to show off to, so he took the guitar and tried to figure out how it worked. God, I remember this so well—he was at it for hours and I was so bored, I had no one to play with. When dinner time came and we all assembled to the table, he proudly announced that he was now a guitar player. Our parents were amused, but I was sort of…eh, let say I was _really_ jealous,” at that point, I shook my head in fake disapproval, to which he just shot me a grin.

“He’d learned how to play the chorus of this Norwegian birthday song, tone by tone,—to this day I don’t even know how he did it. Or maybe I was too young and got impressed very easily when it actually sounded like crap, but anyway, it did resemble the song well enough. He sang along and our parents applauded, my mother was so proud and happy, giving him kisses and hugs. I just sat in my chair, the jealous little boy I was.”

By then I was laughing childishly, trying to picture the whole scene, and Bård was cracking up as well as he watched me. “Ridiculous, I know. But that’s not even the worst part. When everyone went to sleep, I got up and broke every single string of the guitar!”

“Oh no, you didn’t!” I exclaimed through gaps of laughter, slamming a hand over my mouth to calm myself down a bit. But the giggles escaped through my fingers nonetheless.

“Oh, I did,” he continued. “It wasn’t the best of my moments, I admit to that. I can’t say I’m proud of it. But keep it in mind that I was only seven or eight—I don’t even remember. Vegard didn’t talk to me for days after that. But I suppose it was enough to spike our interest in music. The guitar _was_ my first love, after all,” he concluded finally, a huge grin spread over his lips.

“And you broke the strings! You broke its heart!” I enthused loudly, falling into another set of giggles.

“You know me,” he joked with a wink. “Always the heartbreaker.”

At that I punched his shoulder playfully, to which he snapped forward and plastered a kiss across my cheek.

“What about you, then?” he asked after a while, once we had relatively relaxed from our laughter.

“What about me?” I wondered in return.

“You haven’t told me anything about your childhood. Or your family, for the matter,” he explained simply, smiling and obviously curious.

My lips hinted a frown. “There’s not much to tell, really,” I answered, a little too casually. Talking about my family had never been a favorite subject, and I wished he hadn’t asked about it at all. However, it was bound to come up eventually, the talk about my past. After a large breath was inhaled and exhaled, I began my story with a frank wish to have it out of the way as soon as was possible. “My parents got divorced when I was a teenager. I never saw my dad after that. I lived with mum, but she was a heavy alcoholic, so I guess I never knew her either.”

Predictably, Bård himself was now frowning, and I regretted that I hadn’t lied—telling a silly scene from my pre-adolescence would had done the job. However, I was then left with no choice but to carry on. “We lived off of her waitress job and social welfare. I tried to get as many gigs as I could just to get by, played with different bands every time. Actually, I played with whoever needed a singer. Getting gigs on my own was a little more difficult, but that’s how I became who I am now, I suppose. I don’t have many stories like yours to share,” I told him honestly. With no siblings and no close family, that could have been predictable. “My childhood consisted of listening to my parents fight, and my teenage years were… I don’t even know what I did back then. Sneaked to the toilets in school to have a ciggie,” I concluded with a small laugh in an attempt to lighten things up, while Bård’s expression remained completely serious, uninhibited grimace spreading across his features.

“Mary, that’s just so…” he began, but then trailed off. I knew what he meant, all the same.

“Sad?” I finished for him. He faintly nodded. “No, not really. I’m happy—well no, I can’t say I’m entirely happy with the way my pre-adolescent years ended up, but I suppose I’m just content with life. I’d never seen any better so what I had was good enough for me. I made the best out of things, you see. Everything made me who I am now, and my life is good now. I’m happy now, and that’s what matters the most.”

What I said wasn’t that far from the truth, however it was a statement I contemplated to avoid Bård feeling sorry for me. Although when I was younger I kept on wishing that things would magically change into better, at the present moment I was at the very least over it all.

And then his lips ended up on mine, another delicate kiss that certainly bore the potency of making things better—for the present moment at their worst, but were also undeniably successful at wiping away unpleasant memories. “I want to make you happy, Mary,” he said when he broke off. His eyes were so full of emotion on their own, and I wished I could somehow see all the feelings he had inside him. Albeit that could have been too much for me to handle.

“You do make me happy,” I told him softly, my voice taking up a course melody at the lowness of its tone. “So, _so_ happy, Bård.” _Happier than I have ever been_ , I just thought to myself.

And he was kissing me again, one of his hands tangled in my hair, the other holding mine tightly. I moved it upwards, leaving it to rest above my heart so he could hear how it raced in his closeness. “And you as well,” he whispered when he pulled away, allowing me a good view of his shining blue eyes. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve been so happy.”

Completely satisfied and overwhelmed, I pulled him close to myself, drawing him into another breathtaking kiss. After that, we made love. So slowly and gently. I couldn’t recall falling asleep in his arms, as all the moments collided flawlessly.

The morning I was to leave, he woke me by pulling me up tight against him and saying unhappily: “God, I hate sleeping alone.”

Rubbing my eyes open, I couldn’t believe it was finally time to go. “Maybe you could get Lene to stay with you for a while. I think that Vegard could help you with that now, he’s on good terms with Margit after all,” I suggested, words I had no idea where they’d come from at that early hour, but I suddenly didn’t want Bård to feel lonely.

He sighed. “If only it were as easy. Plus she still wakes up in the middle of the night to cry, sometimes even whines in her sleep, asking for her mummy. She’s closer to her mum,” he answered sadly, as if something tore inside his soul. “You snuggle.”

I did my best to produce a smile. “Because you hog the blankets and it’s the only way I can keep warm,” I commented jokingly, but there was not much truth in that. I just wanted to cheer him up, even though I felt just as miserable myself.

“Lene hates me,” he complained, and I instantly regretted bringing her up. As though he needed more things to worry about…

“Oh Bård, you know that’s not true,” I soothed, but it was as though he was just looking for things to feel bad about.

“It is. I’m a horrible father. I’m barely ever at home and now—“

“Bård please, it’s six o’clock in the morning,” I reminded him lightly, lifting myself up to peck his lips. “Let yourself wake up first, alright? You know that’s not true,” I repeated, “and although things suck right now, you don’t need to make yourself feel bad about everything.”

“I know, but—“

I interjected in a confident manner. “Everything will be just fine.”

“So you won't miss me?” he teased, but all of a sudden I didn’t feel like kidding around.

We both fell silent for a while. “I can’t bear to think about missing you just yet,” I answered after a few moments of thought, quite honestly. There was nothing else I could say.

“Then… stay,” he said quietly, but with sudden heat that couldn’t be avoided. “This is crazy!” he spoke up, sitting up quite rapidly. “We don’t need to be apart! I want you with me. I want to come home to you at night and wake up with you in the morning. I want to know you are there whenever I need you. God, my life gets so unreal sometimes. I just want someone with me right now... Someone who loves me and doesn’t want anything from me. Someone who won’t treat me different, expect more from me. Or less from me. Or…” He broke off with a groan. “Christ, Mary, I just need someone I can count on. I want you with me.”

The note of petulant anger in his voice had long since given way to desperation. I felt awful. I knew what he meant. I had seen the way people fawned on famous men, even used them at some points. Or at least that was what I thought he was referring to when he said his life was crazy. But then there was the whole mess with his ex-fiancée that hadn’t quite settled just yet, and there was his daughter he barely saw, and his brother who finally seemed to come around with Bård’s choices, but maybe that wouldn’t last long. I could see it easily why everything was so difficult for him, because he was used to a life full of people and joy.

But what he was asking from me was simply impossible, and he knew that very well. Although it felt like an impulsive speech, there was an honest wish behind it that couldn’t be denied. But I had my band and my tour, and I couldn’t very well decide to cancel it to stay in a foreign country. _No, I can’t stay, it’s impossible…_ In fact, even upon the very idea of it, a sinking feeling overtook me that I didn’t know how things between Bård and me could work like that. What would I do? I couldn’t wait for him home like he wanted me to. I couldn’t sit around and do nothing but wait for him. My life was in England, and suddenly I thought Bård was selfish… But I was aware that his words were more a wish than a serious suggestion, so I pushed that thought away.

So I sat up myself, plastered a small smile and fixed my gaze with his. “Oh Bård—don't,” I said, putting my finger on his lips. “Please don't. I love you, and you know that, but it’s impossible. I can’t stay… But I’ll be come here again, as soon as I can; all you have to do is ask me to and you know I’ll come.”

He was silent for a long time weighing that, then said: “I know, but just… God, this is so unfair. We only had these few days and now… you have to leave.”

I could only nod sadly. He pulled me closer, my head tucked under his chin, his arms wrapped around me, legs tangled in mine as if trying to wrap me into him, into something that couldn’t be separated from him, even as he said the words of surrender. Softly, with aching sweetness, he admitted: “That's enough, just knowing you would come to me if I asked you to.”

We gave into our embrace and told each other it would only be less than a month or so until we could spend a few days together. It felt like it might as well be a year, though.

The worst part of saying goodbye was the drive to the airport. He held my hand while he drove and we repetitively shared a few glances, looking at each saying nothing, saying everything. My eyes never left him. I watched his tensed features as he tried to focus on the road, but I knew all he could think of was me. In no time he was parking the car, while I swallowed tears I did not want him to see. We kissed and I held on to him tightly, feeling sudden alarm at the thought of my leaving. “Promise we will see each other!” I demanded in some form of desperation, without even considering the words before they left my lips.

He looked surprised and even offended at that. “How can you even think that I would bear not to see you again? Oh Mary…”

Suddenly I was flooding in panic, tears streaming down my face nearly violently. I should had focused better to prevent them from leaving my eyelashes. “Because nobody gets to be this happy in real life. The last time I felt this way, it all fell apart. And now you’ll be so far away…”

“No! Stop that!” he said fiercely. It seemed that it was the exact same thing he feared, however he wouldn’t even dare to admit. And then after a pause went on more softly. “Believe me… Believe in us. This is real and nothing will go wrong—I don’t know what you have gone through before, but you’ll call me as soon as you arrive and we can talk about it, alright? Whatever it is you’re talking about, whatever it was that fell apart—that won’t happen to us. I won't let you go that easily.”

But words are one thing and reality a completely other. It was easy to make such rushed promises, in impulsive moments like these, but to keep them didn’t exactly depend on our current feelings. For all I knew, the following day he could realize how ridiculously spontaneous the whole thing between us was, he could just erase my number and never think of me again. Even I could wake up the next day, wondering where my head had been all along. We had bonded so easily, over basically nothing, and there was no solid ground to make sense out of our relationship. There was no guarantee that we’d experience this closeness again once I flew back to England. The only thing I had going was my wish for these feelings to last…

There was time for one more sweet kiss before we walked down the concourse to my gate, I checked in and the airline agent informed me I could board immediately.

He held me just long enough to say “I love you,” and kiss me.

“I love you,” I said and then just walked away.

 


	16. A Sea

I smoked a cigarette. And then reached for another one. To my misfortune, however, the wind streamed like a feverish current, thriving to fail my every attempt at getting the lighter to work. “Damn it,” I cursed under my breath, flicking the ridiculously impractical object below my fingers.

“Mary?” came Simon’s voice behind me, making me start at the sudden disruption of a quiet night.

“God, Simon, you scared me,” I mumbled, a little breathless, without even bothering to turn to look at him, pressing at the lighter’s button again, over and over, and it just wouldn’t fucking work.

Simon walked over to inspect me more closely, and something he observed made him laugh just barely. “We’re on in like, five minutes,” he reminded me, taking out his own lighter and then effortlessly lit my cigarette. I couldn’t help but let out a sarcastic grunt.

“Thanks,” I uttered and finally met his eye. I hadn’t even considered the object in my hand could be broken, which by then felt like the most obvious, reasonable explanation. To my honest excuse, it had worked just fine only minutes previously. “I’ll be there in a second.”

My companion nodded, but remained immobile, watching me carefully for an odd set of moments. Then, completely out of character, Simon asked with a raised eyebrow: “Are you okay?”

“Huh?” I snapped my head towards him, a reaction that was a little exaggerated. “I’m fine,” I hurried with a real answer, which he didn’t seem to buy in the slightest. However, it would be very unlike him to push the subject any further, so he just mumbled something that sounded like “I’ll see you inside,” and left me alone to my thoughts once again.

I hadn’t slept at all since I’d arrived in London. James was there at the airport to pick me up, and after a few hours spent with him and Tess in the city, simply walking around and chatting; we drove to meet the rest of the band, settled in our van and drove to Liverpool where our first gig of the tour would take place. My eyes felt heavy, desperate for sleep, even after the few lines I’d taken half an hour prior. Life was getting back to normal, only nothing was actually normal at that point.

I was freaking in love. And boy, did I dread every new moment such feelings would indulge.

My cigarette was only halfway finished when I discharged it on the ground, and with a step over it, I began to make my way backstage. The club we played was a pretty average local place, but the pay was satisfactory. The pretentious professionals we were, we had set up our equipment an hour earlier, and upon my appearance, the band entered the stage with the exception of me. I waited for them to start the opening intro of our set-list to make my entrance, as per usual. And soon enough, the familiar melody blasted, and with a hasty strut I ran to the stage, grabbing the microphone, shouting my signature line of: “Is everybody ready for some rock’n’roll?” The audience roared in response and the show began in its usual course.

But not even singing could take my mind off of Bård Ylvisåker.

I’d called him as soon as I’d gotten into James’s car after landing, and he picked up after a single ring, as eager to talk to me as I longed to hear his voice. But the prying ears of Tess did not allow us to make much conversation, and I was obliged to cut the call short after five minutes; time not nearly satisfying my need for Bård. However, he insisted that I call again as soon as the gig was over, no matter how late in the night that would have been. “I don’t mind being woken up by you,” he told me sweetly.

With that in mind, even my performance which I never failed to enjoy to the last second, seemed to last unbearably long.

“Not really feeling it tonight, huh Mary?” Martin commented once we were packing up the van, with a transparently concerned expression.

“I’m just bloody tired,” I uttered in response and threw my guitar’s case with the rest of the baggage.

When I finally settled in a hotel room, I didn’t waste a second before dialing the number my fingers itched to type whole day long. I talked to Bård for an approximate amount of three hours, a result to our fresh parting. Even though we could both cry for sleep, we stayed up as long as our heavy eyelids would allow, making plain conversation—talking about literally the first, little significant things that would pop in our heads, and eventually drifted off with the thought of the day we would be reunited.  

But that enthusiasm gradually wore off with the duration of the tour—quite predictably. Bård insisted that I call every night, as well as he would call every time he returned from work and I had the day off, but usually those conversations were reduced to a poor amount of a few minutes—sometimes he would even fall asleep whilst we were talking. Although the both of us were so damn tired all the time, nevertheless that was not the case with me, certainly, as my insomnia kept its end of the bargain and made sure to stick with me all through the three weeks of touring. In reality, I didn’t mind at all. I was fully aware that we couldn’t keep in touch twenty-four hours per week, and no matter how much we both yearned for a new call, sometimes it was better to just stick to our separate lives for a while, allowing the thought of one another to pull us through the usual day-to-day life.

However, I never had much to do when I had no phone in hand, despite the many gigs that were booked and parties that were attended. I preferred the silence, wherever I could find it, which granted me a full dose of narcotics and certain memories to revive more vividly, so many of them I wanted to live through again. And of course I pondered over our whole relationship with a new set of turmoil. But I was effectively familiar and used to it all by now, although still confused of how my sentiments played with my nerves. However, in this familiar environment, it was much easier to come by relief whenever I sought it. Cocaine was indeed my only best friend that never let me down.

Bård had his brother back. Sometimes I myself asked how Vegard was doing, at other points Bård brought him up himself. He remained persistent in avoiding to call me from work and I figured he didn’t have much time to think of me in those hours of the day anyway. It was a relief to know that he no longer acted in this particular way in order to hide me from his brother.

At one point, Bård asked me if I could somehow watch his show. That was, however, impossible when all the circumstances would be considered, as I myself often worked while the talkshow broadcasted, and certainly there was nearly no way to get access to Norwegian television and even if I sat down and joined the numerous fans on the internet, I wouldn’t understand a single said word. Bård was well aware of all this, however he couldn’t proficiently hide his slight disappointment. It was just another reminder of how little our worlds collided in reality. By habit, after this conversation, we tiptoed back to our eager anticipation to be together once more.

Although I hoped those three weeks we had to endure apart would fly away quickly, helped by both our busy schedules, they dragged on like little spoiled brats. The worst days were those I spent either partying—which wasn’t fun at all when there were no men I desired sleep with involved, I came to discover—or just driving in the van. The guys stuck close to their weed, and albeit I joined them often to kill off time, it was just another state of mind that prompted worries and over-thinking. I stopped to ask myself: _Was I always such a contemplative person? Or did knowing Bård bring that out in me?_ Whichever option it was, it was what I knew my reality to be just then.

For the first time in my life, I found Tess’s company unusually gratifying. She was the only woman who traveled with us, having extended her semester break with a few days of slacking off university, just to be with her boyfriend. Although she was full of questions and had her curiosity misplaced, I found opening up to her a small effective way to ease my nerves. Without a doubt, she forced every word out of my mouth, but at least offered her own opinion and advice in return. It was alright until one night, two weeks into the tour, when she went a little too far, and no matter how much I hated answering each of her inquiries, I was glad in the end. Tess had a tendency to stick her nose into other people’s business and she did it well.

“So when are you going to tell me about it?” she asked the same question for a thousandth time, after having joined me for a cigarette outside. We are at another party, but it was complete drag, and having found our distaste of the place in common, we both slid through the crowd and walked outside.

She didn’t have to explain her inquiry any further; I knew exactly what she was referring to. She wanted to hear about Bård and me and she no longer wished for me to snoop around the point. After all, she was the one who had introduced me to ‘The Fox’ in the first place, a past so far away I could not recall properly. I told her what his house had looked like, what car he drove, about meeting Vegard; unimportant facts that fed her curiosity temporarily, however she was bound to come craving for more eventually. It wasn’t just the fact that she was a fan of theirs—something that struck me in an odd way, but then again, being in a relationship with someone who had _fans_ was already weird enough without knowing one of them—but it was more that she was unusually happy to know that I’d found someone worth hanging on to, having been the one who pushed me to start dating all through the last two years we had known each other.

“There’s not much to tell, Tess,” I lazily proceeded to answer, taking a puff from my cigarette, holding it in longer than necessary in order to deprive my lungs of oxygen for a little feeling of thrill in return.

Tess would buy none of it. “Oh, come on Mary, you gloat every time you have that phone in hand. Telling your friend about it might not be as horrible as you think it is,” she said in her usual sweet tone, undoubtedly smiling.

 _A friend?_ Albeit I never considered her as anything close to the sort, I found myself feeling flattered that she could think of me as one. I was well aware that I wasn’t a friend to her in any way, but I then realized that she genuinely cared about me despite my disinterest. I looked up at her as she was notably taller, and she greeted me with a tempting gaze I could not avoid. It was all the encouragement I needed to break loose a little.

And I began to open up. “Ah Tess, what is there to tell? I just miss him, you know,” I told her honestly with a frown that tightened my lips. “It’s been too damn long since I’ve felt so attached to a person. I just don’t know how to deal with it. I don’t know why this happened to me or why it had to be him, it’s just… so damn new and confusing to me.”

Tess frowned herself, bringing up a hand which she left to rest at my shoulder for moral support. “I understand what you mean. But Mary, that’s completely normal. I can’t stand being apart from James, as you can tell. I try to join you guys on your tours as often as I can,” she was now smiling reassuringly, pausing to take another drag of her own cigarette. Now that she had put it that way, I recalled momentarily that she was indeed far too often around the band. “I just want to be with him, even when he’s out there enjoying these stupid parties,” she added with a small laugh. “I can’t even imagine how I would handle it if he lived in another country. I probably wouldn’t be able to endure it.”

I sighed heavily, feeling her words deeply. “I don’t know what I could do, Tess. I didn’t ask for this to happen. My brain keeps telling me to get a grip of myself and just to let it all go, but…” I trailed of, unsure if I wanted to tell her what followed.

But she knew it anyway. “The heart tells a different story,” she finished for me gently.

We were silent for half a minute, each of us falling into our own labyrinth of thoughts. The wind breezed through, but it was an unusually warm October evening. Tess then turned to me, with a little hesitant expression, saying: “Mary, don’t take this question the wrong way, but I have to ask, for your sake; is he in love with you as well?”

Our eyes met and the answer was there, spelled all over me. She didn’t have to ask me if _I_ was in love, it was probably the most obvious thing in the world for a person who’d known me before I met Bård. “He said he is,” I told her honestly, and then my lips twisted in a slight grimace.

“What, don’t you believe him?” she asked in return, genuinely concerned.

“I do, I believe him, but…” I trailed off again, unable to find the correct words to express what I felt. “God, Tess, it’s just so difficult. It all happened so quickly, I don’t even know what to think anymore. Everything just feels too good to be true.”

Tess sighed, threw her cigarette on the ground, extinguished it with her heel and took a hold of my free hand, taking me by surprise with this sudden closeness. “We often percept love like something difficult and complicated, but as soon as you realize that it’s not complicated at all, you’ll find that it’s the most simple, natural thing on the planet. After all, it’s just two people who fall in love with each other, and unable to just enjoy it instead, they make a mess of it. Take my advice and just loosen up. If you love him, and if he loves you, things will work out in their own course. You just have to be patient.”

“But Tess, he lives so far away, and I… I just don’t know what to do. It _is_ complicated.”

She wore a sweet smile. “It only feels that way. I’ve seen love and I’ve felt love. I promise you that things will work out, as long as both of you want them to. You do want that, right?”

I nodded with pursed lips, feeling her words a little naïve, however I couldn’t decline her own beliefs, no matter how little they collided with mine.

“A sea is not the worst thing that can part two people,” she concluded, and when I glanced at her doubtfully, she leaned in to give me a hug. It was a rather unnatural hug, or so it felt, but for a moment it made me feel less alone. Breaking away shortly, we both returned to the party in silent agreement. A small fear that a sea could prompt much worse problems remained in the back of my head.

When I called Bård the following day, I retold him this conversation in little detail, in hope that whatever he had to comment would be of some help to ease my nerves.

“But what did she mean with that? What does she think is worse than distance?” he asked me as soon as I finished talking.

Out of all the people, I thought he’d understand it right away, having been cheated on. However, I provided him an answer, saying: “Well, it’s always worse if a third person stands in between, isn’t it?”

“Oh,” came from his side of the line, and then he sighed at the realization. Silence fell over for a couple of seconds, which he broke with: “If that’s the worst thing that could come in between us, then we have nothing to worry about.”

And that was _his promise_ —that he thought only of me and no one else, and what was even more overwhelmingly flattering was the he trusted me just as much. I was grinning like an idiot to myself; oh the things this man could make me feel. “I love you, Bård,” I told him softly in my silly, little high, words that we now shared so often, but somehow this time around they held a more special, different meaning.

“Just eight more days to go, Mary,” he reminded me enthusiastically. “Just eight more days and I’ll make love to you.”

But eight days proved themselves to be an unbelievably long period of time. A ticket was already bought—again without much of my consent, but I didn’t mind. I was glad he wanted me to go to him no matter what, strategically avoiding my slight confusion that could change my mind.

Bård called me again later that day, right after he returned from work. “Mary,” he began as soon as I picked up, “we never talked about what you said at the airport.” For a moment I was perplexed, as whatever he was referring to could not be reached in my memory. Prompted by my silence, he added: “I mean, we can talk about it, but only if you want to.”

And then I remembered, that moment of sheer panic I had, the fear that things could fall apart that overtook me. “Oh, that,” I mumbled as soon as it came to me. “Just, forget it…”

He didn’t say anything for a while, presumably weighing down his options. When he spoke again, there was a hint of hesitation in his voice. “I could do that if you want me to. But Mary, I’ve told you so much about me and you haven’t shared a lot. Maybe it will be easier for me to understand you if I knew more about you…”

All throughout this time, I was unaware of the possibility that he could feel that way. “Do you feel like you don’t understand me well enough?” I asked sadly.

“No, I mean, I understand you, it’s just… it’s so hard to know what things are like for you sometimes.”

“Oh.”

“But if you don’t want to talk about it—“

“No, it’s fine,” I interjected, trying not to regret what I was about to do. Opening up had always been extremely difficult for me, as it always somehow managed to make me feel guilty for bothering other people with my inner demons. The temporarily organized thoughts in my head were enough to some extent. Albeit, if I could do it with Tess, then talking to Bård about myself should by theory be much easier. “I used to be in a long relationship as well,” I began, the memories coming to life on their own. Suddenly, my whole brain was inhibited by scenes from the past, however, I was relieved to find that they no longer caused me pain after being recalled upon. I had pushed them aside for far too long, therefore I was pleasantly surprised that was the case. “Well, not as long as yours I suppose, but three years of my life went on that. I met Dan only days after I turned eighteen, and we fell in love within hours. It was the first time for me to experience such powerful emotions. I was obsessed, I tell you that.” I stopped to realize that such feelings were now reciprocated with Bård, but I didn’t dare to tell him that particular detail. “I couldn’t think about anything but him when we were apart, and those were rare occasions.”

I paused again, trying to think of a way to transcript my memories into words properly. If I was going to share this with Bård, I was going to do it well. He waited patiently in return. “We lived together, worked together—he was a guitarist so we played as many gigs as we could book,” I continued with a sigh. “I remember thinking—this was it. Dan was the one. The love of my life, the person I wanted to share my life with, even though that was sort of hard to imagine. You see, I couldn’t picture any future with him, but somehow I knew that it should happen. We had a wonderful relationship, so I guess that was where we were headed. Everything was going smoothly and after a year, he even started to talk about marriage. He was seven years older than me, so that was sort of expected, I suppose.

“But he knew I wasn’t ready for that—I was far too young. He knew it well, right from the beginning, but he kept on promising that he would wait for me to get used to the idea, convinced he wanted to start a family with me. But after time, I guess he wasn’t as patient as he claimed to be. I tried to persuade him that we didn’t need a ceremony or some legal paper or whatever to prove the strength of our relationship. Sometimes he agreed, sometimes he just fell silent after such conversation.”

I had to stop again, for what followed brought a wave of melancholy within me. I considered getting up to light a cigarette in the meanwhile, but decided against it. It was best if I only had one thing to focus on.

Bård used this break to mumble a: “Of course, you were right…”  
  
“Yeah, well, Dan apparently didn’t think so,” I retorted sardonically. “And then… Then he left, just like that. I woke up one morning and he was gone. At first I thought he’d gone to his family in Scotland, as he often did, even though he mentioned nothing of the sort. I kept thinking he would just come back. I didn’t even worry about it until a week had passed and a letter came in my mailbox. I was expecting a sweet note—he often sent me those, never used a freaking telephone like every goddamn normal person on the planet, saying it ruined relationships or whatever it was he believed in. He hated technology,” I paused to laugh, reminding myself of how well I’d taken up that distaste from him.

“But anyway, I read the letter. It was pages and pages long, and each new word made a crack on my heart until it was completely broken by the end. He’d written that I wasn’t right for him, that through all the time we were together he loved me unconditionally, but apparently I never returned his feelings to such an extent. He hated that I didn’t want to settle, insisted that I was selfish—to put it in his words—because I wasn’t prepared to make him a promise that we’d be together no matter what, that freaking marriage was the solution to everything and I was too blind to see it. That through the years we shared he kept trying to convince himself that I would come around eventually, that I’d finally see how necessary it was to start a family as soon as possible, as if that was the formula to a real, steady relationship.” And there it was, a tiny flicker of pain and anger rising up within me.

“In the end he wrote that I was too young for him, too unstable and immature to understand him, and that even though he believed our love was enough to make me realize that he was right, to awake me from my ignorance, apparently in the end he concluded that it wasn’t. And that was it. It all fell apart as simply as that, completely out of the blue. I didn’t even see it coming because I was so fucking in love, stupidly believing that everything was perfect.”

There was an apparent moment of silence, which Bård promptly broke, saying: “Just like that? He didn’t even have the guts to say it to your face?”

A sarcastic laugh escaped me, and I felt another urge for nicotine which I pointedly ignored. “No. I never saw him again. I actually wrote him a letter back, saying I’d do anything, that I’d marry him, that he just had to give us a little more time… Oh, the silly girl I was. But he never replied. See, I even believed him when he claimed that everything was alright between us except that disagreement over marriage, that if I simply agreed to it we’d be back to normal again. Back to the happily in love Dan and Mary. But I was wrong, obviously.”

And then I heard Bård sigh, and even though I could perfectly imagine his expression, it wasn’t enough. At that moment I could feel the distance between us more than ever, because I just wanted him to hold me and to promise me everything would be alright. I needed to hear I’d never had to be put through such a thing ever again, but I was aware that it was too much to ask in any case. “I’m sorry you that happened to you, Mary,” is what he said. “I… I really don’t even know what to say.”

My lips twisted into a frown. “I know, it’s really—it’s okay. That’s why I avoid subjects like this. It isn’t easy for either of us to talk about such things.”

“No, it’s not,” he confirmed gently, “But now I know. And I’m glad you told me—all of this.”

“Yeah, well…” I trailed off, not knowing what to say myself. “Now you know.”

And then after another short pause, Bård asked: “Is that why you cried at the airport? Because of this?”

“Yeah, I… no, I don’t know,” I let out a heavy breath, and my chest tightened at the memory of that day. Of how difficult it was to let him go, of the rising panic I felt that I’d never see him again. It pained me to a much greater extent than the memory of Dan. I slid into the cover of the bed I laid in, suddenly feeling a chill overtaking my body. It was as somehow this position would shield my vulnerability. “I guess I just don’t trust things when they seem to be going so well.”

“Mary, you do know that I’d never do that to you, right? I mean, if anything _ever_ comes between us, we’ll have to talk about it, face to face.”

“Bård I—I don’t know. I don’t know what got into me that day...”

“It’s alright. The past hunts us all. But would it make it any easier for you if I promised you?” His voice spelled a determined manner, and I knew he was not going to let this simply slide through. He awaited an answer, which I would not give. I couldn’t bring myself to ask anything from him. “I promise you Mary, something like that will never happen between us. I’d never leave you without a good reason, in fact I’d never let _you_ leave me without one.”

“Bård—“

“And don’t think this is something that binds you to me or whatever. I know that it’s been only two months since we’ve met, and I know it’s too early to even think of a future, but I can see you there. When I picture myself years from now, I want you by my side. I don’t know how and I don’t know why, I’m aware that things could go wrong at any point, I’m aware that we have a lot of things to work through… I mean, we live in different countries for starters, goddamn it! But it’s just a feeling I’ve got inside me, you know?” there was a passion in his voice as he spoke those words, a tone than sent my body into goosebumps. “That everything is just… right. Do you understand what I’m trying to say, Mary?”

My eyes began to tear up involuntarily at these intense emotions. “Jesus Bård, don’t… don’t say all of that to make me feel better. I was leaving and suddenly I got scared and I—“

“I’m not Dan. I’m not asking you to pressure you into feeling the same way, I’m not trying to make you see things my way,” he reassured me sternly, but with a detectable gentleness in the background. “I just want you to know what I think about when I’m at work, and when I’m at home, and when I’m falling asleep—whenever I miss you; and Christ, Mary, I miss you all the time—when I wish you were here I just… this is what I think of. This is what I feel, and I just want you to know that.”

And then a few drops escaped my eyelashes; I couldn’t decide whether from joy or fear or pain. They came out of nowhere, sliding down my cheeks uncontrollably. “Oh God Bård, I wish you were here,” I could only whisper. He had said so much and I had so little words to return, but somehow I knew he was aware I could only return every single syllable.

“I know, Mary, I know… and you’ll be back in my arms again before you know it.” The small brightness in his tone made my insides warm, and the very picture his words painted managed to calm me.

Wiping my damp face, I gave way to another sigh, but then a small smile began to play with my lips. “Soon,” I whispered softly.

And he was right. Before I even knew it, the clock had ticked the time away, and I found myself in an airport, suitcase in one hand, phone in the other. I was two hours too early, actually, which was enough time for another anxious set of thoughts. What if we were wrong after all? What if seeing him again would make it even harder to go back? The last one wasn’t even a question, as I was damn certain that it would be a million times more difficult this time around to get into a plane back to England. What I was doing was digging myself deeper into this relationship, and despite all the perks and good moments that would definitely take place, I was afraid to my every last nerve cell.

Was Bård a risk worth taking? Was giving my heart to him really worth it? I’d have to return home without him, once more, and for God knows how many more times. To stay there was impossible, as I had well concluded even weeks prior. I couldn’t go on like that, could I? No, I wasn’t such a stable person, I couldn’t handle to have my heart broken once more—I wouldn’t allow it. And there I was, waiting till the last moment to go through check-ups, breaking my own heart with each new moment. I had only myself to blame, for falling for a man who was so much more than me, for allowing something so small and only barely significant to evolve into all of this. A damn, bloody connection that I was under an illusion existed developed into a very real set of two people who fell in love. An illusion… it wasn’t even that, not anymore, it had become far too real for that.

I thought back to the night I met him, and that small impulsive thought that passed through my head even back then; that Bård would shake my soul up. Oh goodness, did he do exactly just that, all the way to my core. And he did it so well, so freaking well that now I was torn between my rational perception and this strong urge to fly over to Oslo. For what exactly? To achieve an even more complicated set of things? The silliness I felt could not be put into words.

But I remained seated with a wish to simply be in his arms that wouldn’t escape me.

Once the speakers voiced a message of: “Last boarding call for flight 215, Oslo,” I stood up to my feet, but instead of heading for the gate I rushed to the bathroom. There, I stared at my reflection in a mirror, standing amongst a few other women who paid no attention to my presence, nor I to theirs, asking myself: _Do I really want to do this?_ Without much thought I locked myself in the nearest toilet compartment that was available, sniffing on a particular white substance almost immediately as I plastered myself against the shut door. I needed my best friend to boost me up, to make this decision for me, to help me sort my severely disordered thoughts.

And, of course, that’s exactly what it did.

 


	17. Again

The airplane landed in Oslo approximately ten minutes earlier than expected. My suitcase was small enough to be brought along as hand luggage, so I felt gratified that I had one less airport procedure to go through. The checking in passed quickly enough and without problems, as I had rushed in order to be in the first few in line. In fact, it all went smoothly in my petulant impatience to finally see the one face I had dreamed of for many a weeks, except for a small detail that unavoidably brought annoyance. I was only minding my way when my brain registered a question. “Are you alright, miss?” asked a random man who waited next to me, and I was at first perplexed by this unexpected inquiry. I looked around to locate another person to whom it could be addressed, but my mind was quick enough to recognize that it was directed to me, as the man’s eyes were firmly fixated on my small frame.

“I’m fine,” I answered with the politest expression I could produce. I must have looked quite out of place, I concluded silently, as I couldn’t find another suitable explanation as to why would a random man feel the urge to talk to me. “Flying always wears me out,” I added so I wouldn’t raise any suspicions or cause any form of attraction. The two glasses of vodka I digested in the plane weren’t slowing me down in any way.

“Oh, I’m the same,” he told me in return, rather enthusiastically. “It’s a small price man has to pay, but travelling alone makes up for it.”

I flashed him a smile and proceeded to ignore him, in hopes I wouldn’t be submitted to any more useless small-talk. I always detested people who felt the urge to make conversation out of any situation.

But, I had hoped in vain.

“What brings you to Oslo?” he wondered despite my obvious disinterest.

I shifted my small suitcase from one hand to the other. "I’m visiting…” I trailed off, in search for the right word, and slight anger boiled me up as I couldn’t bring myself to say anything other than: “Someone.”

“Oh, that must be nice,” he nodded with a smile, and I looked away in means to give him another hint that I was simply no interested to answer any more questions. Again, that didn’t stop him. “Would you like me to carry that for you?” he asked me gesturing towards my baggage, taking no notion of my apparent discomfort at his words rather than the weight I held in hand. “It looks a little heavy.”

Was he flirting with me? My suspicions were confirmed when he sent me a nonchalant wink. I sustained from rolling my eyes, despite the enormous urge I felt to do it. “No, thanks, it’s actually pretty light,” I declined, informing him a little harshly this time around.

He was bound to leave me alone as it was his turn to pass along his passport, however, he allowed me to take his place. I felt forced to give him another smile and a nod of thanks. Soon after, I made my way to the exit in a hasty step, without turning around to look at the annoying man once more.Given his persistence, I feared that another glance at him would encourage him to walk me out the airport.

Perhaps I was simply disinterested in anything that didn’t involve the only one person who dominated my thoughts. My heart hammered as I spotted Bård in midst of the crowd before the gate, undoubtedly surrounded by fans. One of those held him by the waist, and although he was slightly leaned into her to take an obligatory picture, his gaze was fixed on me from that distance. A beaming smile was spread across his face, and my heart picked up its pace at the very sight. I gripped my suitcase tightly in hand as my feet took up a run on their own accord, only to drop it carelessly on the ground once he excused himself from the small crowd that had formed around him, making his own hurried pace to meet me halfway. And only moments later his arms were around my waist, pulling me to himself in an indescribable closeness, our lips smashing together in such a passion that took no notice of our surroundings.

My hands reached his neck as he slowly lifted me from the ground only barely, clutching onto whichever locks of hair they could come across, my breathing becoming a feverishly difficult task with each new second. It was a matter of only moments, but his fingers had managed to reach down the small of my back, lightly touching my bottom in disguise. But I couldn’t even tease him about it; I was too caught up in the moment, too caught up in being able to physically touch him. When we parted only briskly in order to take up a good glance at one another, he uttered a form of moan, whispering: “God, you feel _so_ good.”

I ducked forward to press another kiss against his lips, and then his cheek, only to be met by a flashing light that disrupted my blissful unawareness of the people around us. My face flushed red momentarily as my eyes greeted the sight of two teenage girls, snapping away pictures on their cell-phones.

“Bård, er dette din nye kjæreste?“ one of them asked, her eyes wide and jaw dropped at the image before her. I did not understand a single word, although I was quite certain that one of my wild guesses would be a quite correct translation.

Bård announced a “Ja,” without even turning to see her, instead remained intently focused on my presence. “Let’s get out of here,” he whispered in my ear, planting a quick peck along the way.

I could only nod in agreement, and once he had secured a hold of my hand, he walked over to pick my suitcase up from where I had dropped it a minute earlier, only to proceed to lead us towards the airport’s garage; a place I was already familiar with. “What did she ask you?” I inquired curiously along the way.

He turned over to grin at me, saying: “She wanted to know if you were my new girlfriend.”

That wasn’t too difficult to guess, surely. My eyes widened only barely, but my eyebrows were up high enough to speak my bewilderment. “You do know that this could make headlines tomorrow, right?” I felt compelled to emphasize.

Bård shrugged in response, again with that smile and eyes that wouldn’t leave me for a second. “It better,” he confirmed lightly.

I wanted to ask him if that was a good idea, to be so enthusiastic over it all, but I bit my tongue and remained silent. He was gloating, happiness I equally shared, and was presumably arrogant enough to hope that he could make the news just as easily. For one of the most famous men of Norway such predicament was partially due.

I recognized his car from a distance. Exactly as he had done the first time I’d arrived, he hurried to hold the door open for me, but lavishly kissing me before I took my seat to differ in this reprise. “Oh, how I’ve missed you,” he voiced once he was sat next to me, without waiting to start the car’s engine in a _roar_ , driving away as soon as time would allow him. The speed he induced was a clear statement of his ample desire to have me to himself as soon as possible. It was pitch dark outside, but I didn’t allow myself to fear for our safety. Bård, after all, was a good driver and I couldn’t doubt him. I was just as eager to get into his bedroom anyway.

My foot began to tap rhythmically above the surface, which was an irrevocable craving for a nicotine hit this overwhelming situation was bound to achieve. With little hesitation, I asked: “Is it okay if I smoked one in here?”

Bård’s surprise at my question was evident. “Yeah,” he approved, only to change his mind within a moment. “I mean, no, Mary, please not in the car. Could it wait another minute?”

“Sure,” I mumbled with a smile. His words puzzled me, because if I recalled correctly, it was another half hour before we would arrive at his house, but I wouldn’t push the subject any further. His intention finally made sense when he pulled over his car parked in a deserted alley I in no way recognized; not that any of Oslo was very familiar to me. He rotated the key to signify the end of the car’s work, and pushed himself towards me in a blink of an eye, dragging me into a hungry kiss. He didn’t even wait for me to recollect myself and kiss him back, for his lips were already upon the soft skin of my neck, nipping at it eagerly, earning themselves a moan that escaped me, or rather a yelp of surprise.

My hands had barely reached to surround him when he pulled away just as abruptly as he had leaned in, whispering a hoarse: “The back seat?”

It was more of a demand than a question.

I nodded involuntarily and in a significant rush he hurried out of the car, as I slid myself between the two front seats to end up on the aforementioned location. Once he was next to me, he pulled to his lap, both my knees entangling him, and with the feel of his already hard bulge, my need for a cigarette became completely forgotten.

He was all over my neck once again, his hands sliding below all layers of my clothing, grazing my skin with a need to be closer and closer. With my fingers digging into his slick, long hair, I suppressed my moans against whichever surface of him my lips could grasp, my hips grinding against him encouraged by his touch. His erection only seemed to grow, much like my own arousal, and suddenly I lost perception of the time and place, giving myself fully to Bård’s control. “God, Mary, you feel so good,” he pulled away to groan coarsely, pushing me against him, his quick, hot breaths making me shiver ironically.

I exhaled heavily in response, adding up to my speed as my hands worked their way to ease him out of the jacket he wore, an action he mimicked in parallel, pulling at my coat nearly desperately. It wasn’t long before my blouse was gone as well, whereupon I hurried to return the favor, my clumsy fingers trying to unbutton his shirt, quickly surrendering with a settlement of tearing it open instead, a result to my lack of patience and the immense lust of the moment.

“Someone’s a little eager,” Bård breathed seductively in my ear, tracing his lips all over my jawline until they reached my lower lip, which he playfully bit after I uttered: “Speak for yourself.”

He was pinned under my negligible weight, which of course I couldn’t use to my great advantage if it didn’t gift me the power to apply the right amount of pressure which he couldn’t achieve on his own. As I pushed against his groin, somewhere in the depths of my abdomen I felt a tantalizing sweet traction, while a grunt evaporated from Bård to add to the heated atmosphere. His lips nibbled the most sensitive area of my neck, his tongue painting patters all the way to my collarbone, in the midst of his almost frantic attempt to remove my jeans. Had I not been so incredibly aroused myself, I would have probably laughed at his creative solution of lifting my bottom, whereupon his hands remained neatly, failing to proceed their task when met with the touch of my bare skin and damp, lace underwear.

Caressing my thighs, his teasing fingers traced my skin everywhere but the area which most desired to be touched. To punish his playful manner, I sat away, slowly sliding out of my jeans in the limited space, putting up a show that was barely visible in the darkness. A small chuckle left his lips, and to twist my plan in his amusement, he brought himself on top of me, smashing me against the soft seat, his steamy breath detectable all over my abdomen as his experienced fingers removed what was left of my clothing. I reared up in pleasure when his tongue met my breast, his hand clasping the other in a fevered passion. My every nerve ending felt far too sensitive to his touch, as though he had managed to convert every nerve cell of my body into an erogenous zone.

To describe the whole scene as erotic would have been an understatement, because the things this man made me feel were miles beyond any rational comprehension I was familiar with. This wasn’t plainly sex—not in any way. I was near ecstasy even before his rushed, but careful kisses had begun to slide down my skin even further away from my eye, getting lower and lower with each new fragment of a second. He retracted his fingers from wherever they laid upon before, and suddenly reached where my skin most screamed to be touched, taking me into a world of a complete different level of pleasure. He was stroking me gently for an undefinable amount of moments, his gaze plastered upon me, watching my every, tiny reaction as my body was becoming overwhelmed with satisfaction.

When I finally managed to meet his eye, he slid a finger inside me, and then another, and with a provocative smile he moved on, his mouth replacing his previous touches which my body missed even after only moments they’d been withdrawn, his fingers thrusting in a rhythmic motion along the way. Without any type of warning whatsoever, his experienced tongue flicked against my clitoris, causing my hips to raise involuntarily, shuttering with immense pleasure that was far too much to handle. A heat began to spread over my lower abdomen, causing forms of contractions that signified that I was close, so close to coming and simply didn’t want to get there without him. But it was too fast, and the more I moaned and begged him to stop and the more I tried to push away and slow him down, the hastier his mouth worked, and before too long an intense orgasm shook me to the core, my lips voicing a loud cry, leaving me blacked out for a good amount of a minute as my blood rushed all over my system. As he settled gentle kisses from my abdomen to my lips, taking me in his embrace as my breathing fought to become more even, I whispered his name, told him that I loved him, but my words were so unclear and couldn’t be deciphered in the air of sex, and so he placed a finger against my lips in a hush, planting soft whispers of kisses against my forehead.

Even in my high, I would not allow this to be the end of our reuniting of love making. This urgency that brought me over the edge even faster that I could imagine must have been shared by Bård and I would not leave him dissatisfied. With one final long drag of breath, I buried my face into his neck, all the while my hands pushed him gently back into a sitting position. My fingers were quick to unbutton his jeans, and I had only began to make my way lower against his torso when his strong hands grabbed my face, pulling me back into a breathtaking kiss, one that sent me melting even further. I knew he could no longer wait when his hands traveled down my spine, lifting me up in a flick, and before I could even proceed with my intention the repay the same pleasure he had given me, his full length was already inside me, thrusting into a hastening rhythm encouraged by the movement of his hips. A low, guttural moan—rather a growl—evaporated from his lips as I gently caressed his face, adding my own set of passion to the tempo while his eyes narrowed, before completely closing in satisfaction.

With his arms tightly secured around my waist, I arched my back as my breathing became nearly desperate again, helping him delve even deeper with a set motion that collided perfectly in his speedy, determined rhythm that bore a promise he was already at the edge. His shallow gasps and grip that compressed me tightly against the entirety of his body sent another euphoric wave of pleasure in my lower abdomen, and with another series of frantic jerks he came, shuttering into an orgasm that caused a form of electricity within me all the same, mirroring his ecstasy.

In our blatant arousal that fell steadily into a space of love, we held tightly onto one another as the atmosphere calmed. A small chuckle came from above me, and I focused intently on getting a solid hold of my thoughts, working to pull my head away so I could see that beautiful smile that undoubtedly inhibited his features. “Christ, how I’ve missed you,” he whispered hoarsely when our eyes met, and my mouth indicated a reciprocating grin.

“And the sex,” I added lightly in full honesty; being faithful had certainly gained its reward in this newfound, immense lust.

“And the sex,” he echoed with a laugh, bringing a hand that pushed away strands from my disheveled hair. I took as good of a look as the lack of light would allow, noting the equal mess that had become of his hair when my frantic fingers had ruffled and pulled in a need to have as much of him as was possible. I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him, to have him so close to me once again, to be able to look into those mesmerizing blue eyes and see them looking back, enjoying this moment just as much as I was.

“I can’t believe—“

“And finally—“

We’d both began to speak at once, and the paused in the same manner, only to laugh in our joint reactions.

“You first,” he offered, beating me by a second.

“No, you say whatever you wanted to say,” I encouraged in return, whereupon he leaned into a lingering, gentle kiss.

“Finally you are here and it just feels _so_ right,” he told me tenderly, a glint in his eye stealing my entire attention, causing me to forget whichever words I had tried to utter previously.

 “I know,” I whispered softly instead, and just buried my face into his warm neck. With my arms tightly wrapped around his torso, I felt like I never wanted to be separated from him again, especially after he brought his hands at the back of my head, smoothening my hair in a mellow caress. I could stay in that car forever, and quite frankly, so could he. However, we had to fight against our silly wish and get back on track with reality. In less than seven hours, he had to be at work by all means, and he couldn’t very well do so without cleaning up first—goodness, I would not allow him to appear on national television in the mess of him I had created!

He must have thought of the same, for he said: “I hope that one day someone invents a car with a shower.”

I giggled sweetly, looking over at him. “Yeah, right, like you’d actually drive that sort of thing! It would look hideous!” I exclaimed.

“Of course I would! As long as you’re in the passenger seat next to me, I could even live in such a car!”

I shook my head in a smiling disapproval. “Oh Bård, how do you manage to be so ridiculous and yet so sweet at the same time?”

“Well,” he began, waggling a brow provocatively, the corners of his mouth twisting upwards. “That’s a question all the ladies want answered.”

I scoffed and rolled my eyes melodramatically. He was teasing me now and I just couldn't look over it without responding him the same manner. “You are an arrogant prick, do you know that?” I told him in between a line of _tsk’_ s, shooting a look of played-out dismay.

“Hey, I’m only speaking the truth!” he stubbornly continued in defense to his bruised ego.

I shook my head in disagreement. “I take my words back, in that case. No sweet man would turn to womanizer-talk in front of his girlfriend! Especially not when she’s sitting in his lap, fully naked!”

“Hey, I never said I was a womanizer!” he defended, obviously entertained.“I merely i _nclined_ that women like me,” he emphasized, and with a quick glance at my exposed breasts, he added: “And clearly you are no exception!”

With pursed lips, I pretended to be angered by this last comment, however I burst out laughing within moments. “You’re bloody ridiculous; I’ll stick to that part of my statement!”

“Oh, admit it – you love it.”

With a quizzical look I snapped towards him. “Love what?”

“Being my girlfriend.”

My eyes widened and my jaw evidently dropped. “Like I said; you _really_ _are_ an arrogant little prick!”

He ignored this statement, and pulling aside a few strands of my hair, he continued softly: “ _I_ love it. Definitely.”

My expression went more serious, and I no longer felt like laughing although I was certainly amused. “Jesus, Bård, you make me feel like a freaking teenager again,” I noted in slight bewilderment at the very fact. With that I took hold of my bra and blouse, beginning my process of getting dressed, layer by layer of clothing.

“What do you mean?” he inquired curiously as he located his own shirt, but didn’t proceed to put it on, instead just held it in hand, waiting for my reply.

“Well it was back then when words like ‘boyfriend’ or ‘girlfriend’ held some magnificent, special significance. It was grand to be in a relationship, if nothing else then just for the fact that you could say you had a girlfriend. Wasn’t it?”

“Hm, I can see your point. I guess it still feels special to know that.”

With my head halfway into the blouse now, I voiced a muffled: “Huh?”

“That you’re my girlfriend, know. After being with the same woman for so many years, I suppose I’ve sort of lost touch of what it feels like to be in love with someone and how good it is to know that they feel the same way. Through that word, you know—‘girlfriend’.”

I broke into another grin. “Oh, well… Yeah, I suppose. There’s also the fact that we have so little time together, you know, and it’s like we have to as many things together as fast as possible. Like two sixteen year olds who met over the summer on some holiday. Do you know what I mean?”

He was looking me with a new sort of glint in his eye, a small smile traceable over his lips. He looked so lovingly, so satisfied that I felt another silly twist in my stomach. _Like a teenager._

“What?” I questioned with a crooked smile.

“This is why I love you,” he told me simply. “You have your own way of seeing the obvious. I mean, it’s like you speak of all these things that are right in front of me but I can’t see them until you point them out. And it’s not some big, unusual things, it’s just your own sweet little perception. You have that in your music as well. Simple lines that speak so much and yet are so easy to interpret. I love that.”

His words the far too much and warmed my heart up. I was grinning like an idiot before I leaned it to kiss him lightly. “And I love the way that you give any significance to my silly ramblings.”

“They’re not silly to me,” he told me with a smile.

I couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Oh, you are indeed a ridiculous man in love.”

“I may be in love,” he started brightly, “but nothing is ridiculous about loving you, Mary Laine.”

And suddenly it became too much, as our simple teasing escalated to a seriously spoken emotion, but for some reason I couldn’t justify to myself, I appreciated this feeling of being overwhelmed to the last bit. However, the safest route was to keep things light and easy, so I simply teased him, saying: “Get dressed already you ridiculous man; we’re gonna be late!”

She was still smiling when he wondered, “Late for what?”

“To get out of our clothes once again in your house, of course!”

He was laughing that sweet, boyish laugh of his when I sat away from his lap, throwing his pair of jeans at him and sliding into mine. He still held his shirt in hand, and through chuckles, he threw it aside, saying: “I’ll just have to drive half-naked as this thing is no longer wearable.”

I shot him a mock-glare. “Oh, just put on your bloody jacket!” I spurted, getting out of the car in order to transfer to the front seat properly this time around. Certainly, he followed my lead in no time, and thus began the half hour drive to his house, during which we held hands, enjoying the fact that we were at last in one place as much as was possible. I admired the sight of him, he feel of his soft skin against mine, the way he’d keep his eyes on the road and then turn to inspect me for a second, smiling wildly at my presence.

Upon arriving at his house, we settled in the shower for another heated session of love making, which had us going for a longer while by far. By the time we decided we should get some sleep, it was obvious that Bård would be facing a day at work very tired from the start, as he had no less than three hours to rest, but of that I could not feel guilty. I didn't regret any second and judging by the smile on Bård's face he felt the same way. Besides, having missed him so much, I savored every single second we had together. Exhausted as well, I drifted off in a dreamless sleep, however entirely happy to be in his arms at last.

We were both awoken by the alarm clock at seven in the morning, and Bård groaned ever-so-loudly at the disruption of our peaceful sleep that sent me giggling even in that early hour. “I hate mornings,” he mumbled in my hair, hugging me tightly against himself. Even if he had not made that comment, it was the most evident truth to be noted right then. For a few more minutes, our position remained unchanged.

But I couldn’t let him slack off his responsibilities, even though I would have loved to postpone this moment for eternity. I hogged our blanket away in a slick movement, before having the chance to think it over since I knew that if I did, we would most likely end up staying in the bed the entire day. “You have to get up,” I reminded him when I felt he was drifting off again, whereupon where grumbled in protest once more, clutching onto me as though his dear life depended on it.

His eyes opened only barely, darted across the room until they found mine to lock with. “Come with me to the office,” he then said out of the blue, beginning to slowly sit up.

I did not believe he was serious, but when I saw his expression, it indicated that it was nothing but. “You know I can’t do that,” I mumbled with a faint frown, immediately sorry to disappoint him.

“But why not? You’ll be bored out of your skull at home, and I will miss you so much.”

I couldn’t help but smile at his sweetness. “Well, maybe I’m gonna go out.”

His hands quickly located and enveloped mine, and a small hint of a plea was traceable over his tired features. He had no plan on giving this subject up. “Or _maybe_ you can just come with me so we can be together even while I work.”

“Bård, don’t be ridiculous. Did you forget that I’m not your brother’s favorite person in the world?” I reminded him with a raised brow.

“But you are mine,” he countered with a persistent smile, leaning forward to pull me into a hug. He knew those were words I could not resist. “He won’t have a problem with it, trust me,” he assured a little more quietly, his voice overtaking a raspy texture as he had only just awoken.

“I can’t do it, Bård. Besides, it’s just eight hours. You’ll survive,” I told him as I pulled away, giving him a small, sad smile. “I’ll be right here waiting for you,” I promised in an attempt to boost his spirits, however he still wore a frown.

“I’m not saying you have to do it every day while you’re here,” he insisted, “I’m asking you to join me today. It’s not like I’ll be able to dedicate myself to my job anyway, knowing you’re here. Plus you can see more of what my life is like…” at that point I could sense a ‘please’ coming to crash his shallow pride, and at the very idea I gave in. He really wanted this, and I couldn’t bring myself to deny him. Not today; after all, I had only just arrived.

My surrender was presented in a kiss. When he pulled away, there was at last an unavoidable grin spread all over. “Is that a yes?”

Rolling my eyes came naturally. “Go get dressed before I change my mind.”

Plastering one last kiss at the curve of my neck, he jumped to his feet and did as told, undertaking an excited step that could only warm my heart up. Surveying the already familiar, cozy bedroom, I stretched my arms and gave way to a yawn. Certainly, it felt good to be back, and I couldn’t help but acknowledge to myself that this time around, I felt like I actually belonged here. I could get used to this—I really could. Waking up beside Bård, encouraging him to be stronger than his unmeasurable hate for mornings, fixing breakfast—although I wasn’t capable of preparing much, _yet_ —as he got ready for work, kissing him goodbye for a short while, and then a good amount of time to be on my own, to enjoy my little own separate reality that even now included Bård, completely uncalled for. No, there was no avoiding it—I could no longer imagine a little world of mine without him. Or rather, _I could_ , but that was not a reality that brought any joy to me.

He had entered my life so randomly and my heart so swiftly and there was no going back. And it was as though I was only beginning to feel the true weight of it all. It seemed as if I had enjoyed every second with him so much, that I didn't have the time to even notice how much I’d gotten used to the idea of _us_ and how much I actually wished to be beside him all the time.

A smile crept up at the corners of my lips as I realized how happy I truly was. And when Bård peeked from the bathroom, just his head visible with a toothbrush stuck in his mouth, his eyes radiating joy from across the room easily like that, I knew he had the same thoughts in mind. I stood up and walked, or rather ran to where he was, taking one good look at him before wrapping my arms around his neck. “I love you,” I whispered in his ear happily.

He said no words in return, instead just parted away slightly so he could meet me in a very foamy kiss. I pulled away instinctively, adding up a: “And you’re disgusting,” before I turned on my heel and headed towards my suitcase in means to find something to wear. Mindlessly, I opened it up, put on the jeans that sat folded on top, following up suit with the sweater right below them, until I stopped mid-action to remember that I had to try to look like I wanted to leave a good impression at the very least. Wearing mismatched clothes could speak heaps to some people. Sighing at my silliness, I dug into my possessions in search for a more flattering blouse that at the very least matched my jeans.

I was rather anxious over seeing Vegard again, however, considering the fact that he was now at the very least aware of my presence in Norway, it shouldn’t have been a thing to worry me. After all, Bård had made it very clear that he was finally okay with the idea of me, but then again we hadn’t parted our ways on a very bright note. Even remembering the fight in his house made me cringe. A small sigh escaped me as the downsides of this relationship took turn. _This is going to be a long day, isn't it?_


	18. Parents

Upon arriving in the building where Bård worked, I realized that I could have easily had worn a swimming suit and no one would have paid any notice to it. There were people coming out of one room rushing towards another, papers were being handed from a man to man, women talked on phones, some carried costumes or even random, casual clothes, and of course there was a person who was running around handing coffee to whoever could be reached. To say that the entire building was swamped with work would have been a clear understatement. No heads were raised when Bård himself stepped in, let alone to acknowledge his new partner. Oddly enough, I was relieved. The lack of attention was exactly what I needed no matter how vaguely I would attempt to fit into my lover’s world.

Bård’s office was deserted and quite a contrast to what could be found at the other side of the door. As he led me in, he walked in a confident manner and seemed to be unmistakably used to this entire scenery. He looked quite proud as he spread his arms, waving around a bit, presenting the interior of what took a huge part of his day to day life. If anything, it was a cozy place to work at, or so I concluded as I looked around half-interested. “Take a seat,” he told me as he gestured towards a gray sofa and he himself went over to sit on a chair by the desk.

As soon as I did as was told, a woman entered—and startled me at that, too—with a good stack of papers in hand, placed them on Bård’s desk with a smile and a discreet glance towards me, spoke something in Norwegian and rushed out before too long, far too quickly actually, making it impossible for me to adjust to the situation to begin with. It didn’t happen just this once for someone to storm in. People kept entering and exiting the office, bringing and taking things, sharing words, laughs, ideas with Bård; some even greeted me nicely. My one intention was to by any cost avoid hindering the flow of work and thus I sank into my seat, folded my hands in lap and watched my lover go through files and files. He’d look up to smile every now and then, a genuine joyous beam at my presence and I couldn’t help but feel happy. Would life with this man resemble this? Me joining his more or less exciting adventures, and him tagging along with mine?

My greatest anguish—getting in Vegard’s way—proved itself to be a rather silly concern. Although the man didn’t seem to be particularly cheered up by my visit, he was composed and nice, genuinely polite and smiling. He wasn’t surprised at all by my presence, which by itself was a good sign. It meant that Bård had told him about my visit, and although he probably had not shared the particular detail that I’d join him in the office, perhaps it was a predictable action for someone who knew Bård his entire lifetime. “Have a nice stay,” Vegard even wished me before he turned over to discuss something with his brother. There was no trace of the man who passionately disapproved of me. Could he really have accepted me as easily as that? Apparently a conversation with Bård could do more wonders than I ever knew of. I expelled my worries over unacceptance and observed the healthy relationship between the two siblings. The way they moved along each other, the way they talked and simply understood what was being said; it was like some form of magic. I had never seen two people get along so well and I allowed myself to watch them in amazement.

“I told you he’d come around,” Bård didn’t fail to conduct the second the door closed behind Vegard. “I guess his head was just filled with stories and lies. Margit has a habit of playing a wounded animal,” I smiled in response, but he wasn’t looking at me; it was as though he fell in thought. “Actually, I’ve never experienced Vegard so confrontive. He’s always been overprotective, sure, but I don’t remember him ever standing up to me like that. Especially not concerning my personal life.”

“I must be very unlikable, then,” I half-joked, but a small realization that it might just be so dawned upon me. Perhaps I really was—unlikable—but I did not force Bård to like me in any way. And he very obviously did.

Bård theatrically rolled his eyes. He was now up on his feet, making his way to me. He flopped himself on the seat next to me on the couch and as though by default wrapped his arms around me. “So, _so_ unlikable,” he murmured in the curve of my neck, tightening his grip and kissing me teasingly. “Maybe,” he began and at that point I felt his fingers sliding below my sweater, lightly grazing my bare skin, “below the clothes hides a more likable person.”

I scoffed, barely noticeably, and pulled him in a kiss myself. “A hard-working man might have the permission to discover that,” I retorted almost childishly.

Promptly, his fingers sunk further into the depths of my clothing and he began to pull me closer. “Is that so?”

I took my cue and freeing myself from his grasp, I hopped to my feet and found myself extremely interested in the office décor. There was an ordinary lamp that quite caught my attention; the grayish stripes combined with black were a beauty of a distraction. I didn’t have to look back to see Bård roll his eyes.

“I do work hard,” he insisted and got up to his feet himself, locating me quickly and wrapping his arms around my waist once more.

“I know you do,” I admitted and let my hands clasp over his, “But not at the moment you don’t,” I didn’t fail to remind him. “You promised I wouldn’t be a distraction once I’d be here.”

His lips found their way to my neck, leaving trails of tiny kisses as he determinately ignored my remark. I let out a sigh; I knew this would happen the second he suggest that I should spend these couple of hours here. I would have been able to divert his attention from work in a blink of an eye, and I would have done it without a guilty conscience too, but there was a small part within me that whispered it was time for me to take things seriously. It was as though I was utterly terrified that I’d somehow draw Bård away from me, being so much younger and oh so different from him, and that rose an important question: Why was I scared exactly? Age had never concerned me before, and all my life I’d lived with the conviction that if a person wouldn’t like me for who I am, then perhaps that person shouldn’t be worthy of my time at all. But this man was more than worthy to be kept in my life in all aspects.

Every day I was on a different page and a slightly changed person. And there was only one man to blame.

Bård did get back to work with one last sigh, and I sat around his office aimlessly, nearly desperately trying to find a way to amuse myself and very much failing. A throbbing headache pulsated my skull, a clear inclination that I was in an immense need for at the very least some alcohol. But, whatever be it, I had to contain myself. People were coming in and out were a distraction enough as it was. The most interesting man I met had a slender frame, nicely cut blonde hair and a friendly tone. “I’m Calle,” he told me with an extended arm, and while shaking his hand I introduced myself in return. “Why have you brought this poor lady here, Bård? To bore her out of her skull?” he inquired teasingly, his eyes darting from me to Bård who stood just beside me.

When Bård said nothing and simply grinned chuckling, I piped in, saying: “I do believe that was his only intention.”

Calle huffed a laugh almost obligingly and gave his friend a fake punch in the arm. “I thought you knew how to treat women nicely.”

Bård scoffed and returned a playful strike of his own. “Is it really that wrong for a man to want to spend more time with his girlfriend who lives overseas?” he now sounded slightly annoyed, recoiled with his typical mock-sarcastic tone that made me smile. I stepped a little closer to him, and taking hold of his hand in mine, I interlaced our fingers. He gave me a light squeeze. Calle did not fail to observe this and a peculiar smile spread over his lips.

“Oh, I better leave you two lovebirds to yourselves, in that case,” said he with a discreet wink towards his friend; of course I saw it. I could only roll my eyes dramatically.

“And annoy other people instead?” Bård retorted. “Remind me why I hired you again; shouldn’t you be working instead of snooping around offices?” His tone sounded nearly completely serious and I wondered if that was a branch of their extended humor.

It was Calle’s turn to roll his eyes. “You should be thanking me for that, you know. I’m quite certain that meeting me is the most exciting thing that’s happened to your girl since you dragged her here.”

I nodded my agreement behind Bård who scoffed as though by default. “Well now that you’ve done your job here, go and excite other people instead—this building is in a great need of more Calle! A Calle who actually does his job, mind you!”

Calle smirked and raised his hands in fake-defeat. “I’m leaving, I’m leaving,” he assured his friend, addressing me a wide grin along the way. “I simply wanted to check Mary out before I headed out for my cigarette break—Vegard told me she was here.”

“A cigarette break?” I exclaimed a little too enthusiastically in interjection, smiling at the appealing words. “I could certainly use one of those. Would you mind if I joined you?”

Calle proclaimed he had nothing against some company of which I was sincerely thankful, and although Bård shook his head, he wore a genuine smile. “I’ll see you in a bit,” I told him with a smile of my own while I grabbed my Pal Mals, then hurried to follow Calle who led the way to the building’s rooftop. The elevator ride that took us there was accompanied by silence, a jolt of awkwardness in the air that could be ignored easily nonetheless. 

Once on the rooftop, a light breeze played with my hair. “So you are the woman who stole Bård’s heart when we all least expected,” Calle began as he took hold of his pack of Marlboros from the depths of his pocket. Not knowing how else to react, I nodded. “Well for starters, you’re a lot different from what I expected,” he noted as he chivalrously lit my cigarette and then his own.

I exhaled my first lungful of smoke and turned to look at him with furrowed brows. “What do you mean?”

He chuckled lightly, taking a drag of his own cigarette. “Don’t get me wrong—I’m just saying that I’ve never seen Bård with a woman like you.”

I eyed up the man, trying my best to decipher what the words could really mean. He remained silent as he inspected me in return, bringing smoke to his lips once more. “That’s not too bad, I hope,” I finally uttered, keeping my tone light.And yet, his words had me worried. I was constantly on guard when it came to comments from people who knew Bård. I had no idea if the reason for my alert, which had me on edge all the time, was my fear of losing Bård or whether, in fact, I just wanted to know what people thought of us.

Calle simply smiled and relocated his eyes towards the view of tall buildings before us. I followed his gaze, watching whatever he seemed to see, taking long puffs for a good amount of a minute. In the relative silence, all that could be heard were cars roaming the streets. When he finally turned back to face me, our eyes locked. “It’s all good, as long as you both are happy,” he eventually concluded.

I didn’t know why he was telling me this, but I understood that he and Bård were very close, so I chose not to doubt his motives. “We are,” I told him gently, and he nodded his approval. Extinguishing his cigarette on the fence of the building, he threw the butt in the air.

“Shall we head back in?”

I agreed wordlessly and soon we were back on the same route that took us back to Bård’s office. “It was a pleasure to finally meet you,” Calle ended our short conversation as he dropped me off. I spoke kind words in return and with one final smile, I headed back to where Bård was.

His eyes flew up at the sound of the door opening. His glance begged for an exit and I could tell from a distance that he’d do anything to dodge work and instead spend his time with me. I walked over and massaged his shoulders for a while, peacefully watching him work in silence. It was two long hours before we could finally leave, and the thought that we were just like two teenagers in love playing adults made me chuckle. Had we known what would await us at home, we might have remained in the office for even twice the amount of time.

It was as soon as I stepped out of the car that I spotted her; a tall, blonde, beautiful woman sat on the stairs of the front porch, watching over a girl who ran around the front yard. It took me only moments to realize who she was. It was Bård’s daughter, pressing her tiny feet upon the green grass that gave her away. And had I not seen her, Bård’s telltale reaction of freezing in space and grimacing would have been sufficient enough to clear up the entire situation for me. Margit’s eyes darted upon me and remained there for a split second, before she proceeded to look at Bård with a tight smile.

She called after Lene, telling her something that made the young girl squeal in joy and run over to her father. He readily caught her in his arms, spun her around and showered her with kisses. Had I not been as caught off guard and perplexed, I would have stood there to admire the unconditional love that radiated from the man I loved towards the little angel he held in his hands. But at that point, unfortunately, I had other things to focus on. The mother walked over to us and soon enough she stood before me, insignificantly taller but with a blatant stubbornness to not even acknowledge my presence. Which didn’t really bother me, but was in my opinion entirely uncalled for and to speak the truth somewhat childish.  I remained motionless, expressionless, giving my best attempt against gawking at the woman who was now talking to Bård, and he kept on replying, and I couldn’t understand a single damn word.

I wasn’t upset. I wasn’t jealous. I wasn’t angry. I felt lost and completely out of place.

As the parents spoke an almost too pleasant and calm conversation, I met the eyes of their little daughter who was still in Bård’s arms. She was already looking at me, her tiny blue eyes—a spitting image of her father—scanning me quite intently for such a young person, as though before her stood exactly what I was – an absolute stranger. My heart hammered against my chest; it was all just too uncomfortable, too overwhelming to take in, to finally see it with my own eyes that Bård did not belong to me and I did not belong here. Suddenly I felt my knees grow weak, but I struggled inwardly to remain in place, to stay content and to stop myself from acting unreasonably in any way at all.

It was only when Bård turned to face me when I felt I could at least breathe properly, his expression gentle although a hint of his own discomfort was sprawling over his features; he tried to hide it well. I could see through his mask, however. He smiled apologetically and looked almost sad when he turned back to focus on his ex-fiancée, whereupon I let my eyes lay on his daughter again, noting her incredible resemblance to him once more, feeling younger and more unprepared for life than ever.

I was lost in thought so it came to me all of a sudden when Bård looked at me again, saying: “Let’s go inside.”

I nodded my consent and mutely, we all took the similar steps towards the big house. As soon as we entered through the front door, Bård dropped his daughter to her feet and she ran off, perfectly capable of finding her way through this familiar place for her. It was her home. The girl was already climbing the stairs when I felt trapped, stuck in between two people who presumably needed space. It was more than obvious that I should leave them to themselves.

“I’ll just go upstairs,” I heard myself announce to no one in particular, but when I took one glance at Bård, I saw it again; that apologetic, little smile. But now that he was safely shielded from the world outside, he looked a little angry, containing a rage I could easily see no matter how hard he worked to disguise it, planting fake calmness over his features.

He seemed a little hesitant as he spoke. “You can… stay here,” he attempted, but I shook my head no.

“I’ll be upstairs,” I repeated and with one final nod, began to make my way to where I knew I had to locate myself.

And then there was shouting. I’d been gone for barely over a minute when they started, startling me in an instant as their loud voices echoed throughout the entire house. I had no clue as to how to act or what to do in particular, but I knew very well what it was that I exactly needed. The supplies of alcohol in the kitchen had been renewed since my last visit, and I casually selected a bottle of vodka. A small chuckle escaped my lips as I realized that even out of the variety of drinks Bård’s kitchen offered, I picked the cheapest, most cliché beverage. But it didn’t matter, really, because I could drink this particular type of alcohol as easily as I could drink water. And so I did, gulping down large sips rather effortlessly.

I was too focused on my drink to even notice the little girl joining me in the room. When I saw her, I jumped in place a little taken aback, not expecting another presence. She wore that look again, analyzing me to her own extents, watching me carefully. Taking me all in. Her eyes flashed towards the bottle in my hand, and she asked me a question, but I couldn’t understand.

The girl wore an expectant look as she stood in place, her tiny arm resting on the door frame. As I remained silent, my mouth slightly draped open, she repeated what I thought were the exact same words, but again I couldn’t understand. I already felt mildly lightheaded when I took a step away unconsciously, as though the child frightened me. I nearly stumbled on a counter, luckily though my hand found support soon enough, and I hurried to steady myself.

“I… I don’t understand,” I tried to tell her, but her expression did not alter; the little girl kept on staring at me. “Do you speak English?”

But it was a vain attempt; the girl couldn’t be older than four. Of course she wouldn’t be able to speak English; at that point I realized that I had no clue whether children her age could even speak their mother tongue. I cursed myself inwardly just as she began to make tiny steps that brought her even closer to me. It wasn’t a long way, though, and she was then in front of me, maybe a little taller than my hips, and at last her lips began to curl into a smile. Her index finger flew up and again she pointed at the Vodka bottle. It took me a while to guess that maybe she was thirsty.

I nearly handed her the alcohol before I realized what I was doing. _Goodness, she is just a child._

Stepping away, I stopped to reexamine what I was about to do. Was I out of my mind? Without much thought I walked towards the fridge, nearly frightened by my own actions. Lene followed. Opening the refrigerator widely, I scanned the contents before I spotted a bottle of orange juice. I made a point of letting go of my own drink in order to be able to open the juice, and then handed it to her. She was a little hesitant as she took it in her hands, her eyes never leaving mine, but she gripped it tightly anyway. After a moment though, she shook her head, again directing her gaze towards my bottle.

“But this isn’t for you…” I tried to explain to her sadly, aware that she couldn’t understand, but I couldn’t very well give her alcohol. I knew better than that, of course. Unable to think of anything wiser, my own finger went to point at her drink, and then I took a couple of sips of mine, meaning to indicate that she should do the same with her own. But she remained unmoving and kept on watching me. Goodness, how did humans ever communicate without words?

I did not know what to do, how to react. And so I began to make my way towards the living room, trying to escape the little girl, not even knowing why I was doing it. I couldn’t possibly be frightened by this tiny person, now could I? But of course she followed. And the shouting was louder in that room, as it was closer to the stairway. Lene stopped mid-space and it seemed as though she was listening, and at that point I wondered if she could understand what her parents were arguing about. She made a scene of slowly lowering her juice on the table before the sofa, clasping her tiny hands over her ears quickly after.

The little girl looked terrified. As her eyes began to glisten with tears, a lump formed in my throat, my mind begging to do something to make her smile again, but she couldn’t even understand me. Before I could properly contemplate my actions, I placed my drink next to hers and kneeled in front of the girl; we were almost the same height in that position. I cautiously brought my arms around her, and when she didn’t wince or give any sign that the embrace was unwelcome, I pressed her more closely against myself. Her sweet scent caught my nostrils, and she was just that—a sweet little innocent girl. She had done nothing wrong and yet here she was, now hugging a stranger, scared by the unhappiness her parents had brought on. She didn’t ask for any of this. And she didn’t deserve it in any way.

The shouting stopped.

“Lene!” came from the lower floor of the house, a mother calling her daughter over. But instead of rushing towards the origin of the voice, the little girl clung even tighter to me, low sobs evaporating from her tiny figure. Then there were audible, angry steps over the stairs, and within seconds Margit was in the living room, stopping in place immobile as she took in the image before her. I could see her through Lene’s curls; there was horror on her face.

“Bård!” yelled Margit angrily, her voice causing me to loosen my grip around her daughter, but the girl kept holding on. And a minute later Bård was there as well. He saw us, but quickly turned to his ex.

Again they spoke in Norwegian—actually quarreled, there was nothing else their tone indicated—and again I did not understand. Lene didn’t see her parents—they stood behind her—but she knew they were there and yet did not want to let go.

“Well,” began Margit, her voice sounding an entirely different tonality as she spoke my language; “Lene might as well as finally stay over. She misses her father. Not that she didn’t miss him before, of course. She’s used to him being away all the time.”

Bård scoffed, irritated. “For fuck’s sake, Margit—“

“And who knows, she might even make a friend. She’s about the same age as your fucking girlfriend after all.”

I knew why she suddenly spoke in English. She _wanted_ me to understand.

“Margit,” warned Bård, but the woman proceeded talking.

“But be a real father for a second, alright Bård? Try to really decide whether you want your daughter to associate with _that_ kind of people,” she spoke with clear disgust in her tone.

“Fuck, Margit,” cussed Bård and shook his head angrily. And when the woman opened her mouth once more, he seemed to completely lose it. “Just shut up!” he shouted so loudly that Lene let out a scream. Her crying intensified and my hands began to soothe her hair on their own accord. Unavoidable anger began to rise up within me.

“I’m leaving,” Margit announced a little too calmly, quite a contrast to the entire situation. “It was no pleasure meeting you,” she uttered her first words addressed to me. When no one said anything in return, she piped in a “Well, have fun” and made a scene of storming out of the room.

Lene cried and Bård did not even look at either of us, nor did he follow Margit. He was angry—he was very, very angry. He paced back and forth for a short while, and the just disappeared somewhere into the hallway. “Lene,” I whispered to his daughter, the only word I was certain she would understand. She slowly pulled her arms away from me and looked at me through her teary eyes. I found myself in the same situation again; I did not know what to do. I was hesitant when I took her hand in mine, lifting myself to my feet and leading the girl to the sofa. She sat almost obligingly, struggling a little as it was a slightly too tall for her. I placed myself next to her and let an arm caress her back.

“It’s okay,” I mumbled, but she no longer sobbed; it was just silent tears that rolled down her pink cheeks. I leaned in to press a kiss against her forehead by some instinct when Bård reappeared.

Our eyes met and I could see the traces of rage over his features. His gaze dropped to his crying daughter, obvious regret in his expression, but he did not move. And then his eyes fell on the table before us, perhaps to avoid the consequence of what had just happened. He looked lost, hurt, beaten. My insides struggled deciding whether to get me on my feet or to leave me next to Lene. But I just had to comfort Bård somehow and that determination was stronger above all.

As I was walking to him, he didn’t look at me. He stood frozen in his spot, reactionless and silent. It was when my arms reached to circle him when he brought both his hands between us to stop me. I took a small step back, surprised, worried. “Bård?” it was barely above a whisper.

He closed his eyes and contemplated. When our eyes met again, he spoke calmly. “Mary,” he replied, but he didn’t echo the warmth from my voice by any means. “Were you drinking again?” he asked plainly.

I was caught off guard. For a few moments everything fell silent, but soon enough it was replaced by my pounding heart. “Yes,” I replied simply, nearly confident.

It was a sigh that Bård let out. A heavy sigh. “Did you drink all of that by yourself?” he wanted to know. His gaze darted upon the Vodka; I didn’t need to turn around to see what he was looking at.

“I did,” I answered calmly.

But once I turned around I could almost understand his shock; the one-liter bottle was more than halfway empty. But I wasn’t drunk, I was completely sober and alright and he could not, simply could not be angry at me now. It was so insignificant at this point, so unimportant and I assumed he was just trying to relocate his anger from the main point. He could see that I was alright, couldn’t he?

He couldn’t. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” it wasn’t too angry of a tone though, and he didn’t exactly shout it. There was something else in his voice, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

“Come on, Bård, you know it’s nothing for me,” I tried to somehow remind him, or to convince him, or maybe to even convince myself.

“We got in this house fifteen minutes ago, for fuck’s sake, Mary,” he retorted, shaking his head, again with that tone.

“Yes,” I confirmed, nearly sternly. “What was I supposed to do? You were fighting with the mother of your child, Bård. And she came to me—the little girl came to me and I couldn’t even talk to her or do anything.” I did not mean to fight. Not in front of Lene; she didn’t deserve a reprise. But I couldn’t simply hold my words back. He was taking his fury out on me, judging _me_ even though he knew I was perfectly capable of handling myself. It was something I didn’t expect from him.“I needed… I needed to get my mind off things, alright?” I defended almost desperately.

“And you decided to get drunk,” he finished for me, and then I knew what that tone in his voice was. It was disappointment.

I felt my stomach drop and my knees weak once more for the day. The way Bård looked at me, it was the disappointment spread all over his features now. He almost seemed sad. “I am not drunk,” I defended needlessly, because at that point I knew that no matter what I would have said could have done anything. Bård had already made his mind up, he had already decided how to interpret this situation. And I could _almost_ see his point.

“Lene will be staying with us for a while,” he told me tonelessly, our gazes locked but he was not really looking at me. “You better pull yourself together.”

And then I could see the idea behind Margit’s actions; she had planned this. She must have known I was here—she definitely did. She must have known that I wasn’t prepared to meet their child just yet, there was no other explanation to it all. She must have known that I wouldn’t react very brightly. Why else would she decide to finally give in? To let Bård have his way? And just now? It was a devised plan and I could see it clearly all of a sudden. But that didn’t matter, not unless Bård himself would agree with me. With a new flicker of hope I looked up at him. “You do know she’s just trying to break us apart, right?”

He didn’t say anything. But his eyes, they spoke enough.

“Please,” I wanted to say, but I couldn’t. My arms tried to reach him, but he was quick to escape me once more, taking a step back. And then I knew it; I remembered the fight at Vegard’s, what he had said, and then there was this fight from today; I simply knew I had to get away because I couldn’t allow myself to cause any more trouble. I knew that Bård was no longer on my side—not in this moment at the very least.

Sliding past me, he went over to comfort his daughter. I watched him bring his arms around the girl, whispering something, and she no longer cried, simply held on to her father until she was completely calm. I stood like that for a couple of minutes, hoping that Bård would see sense, hoping he’d come and comfort me just as he did with Lene. But he didn’t. When his eyes met mine at last, it was as though I was looking at a completely different person.

I walked away without a particular target; I plainly knew I had to get away. When Bård didn’t follow me, I knew I was right. It was over, and it was all his unreasonable doing. And I needed more of that Vodka.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, I'm truly sorry that it's taken me so long to post this. I was busy with finals, then a trip to Germany, and then a guest from Sweden. But that's not my entire excuse, really; I couldn't bring myself to write for a while. Certainly, I have not forgotten this story and I will definitely finish it soon enough. Hopefully you liked this new chapter and the entire story as well for the matter! :)


	19. Another promise

Although I had stormed off determinately and quite stubbornly, the rational part of my brain would have never allowed me to get far away—I simply couldn’t escape things too easily in a foreign country where I didn’t know my way around. And that was exactly what I wanted to do, to run away, to leave all these complications behind and get back to my simple life of solitude. I was aware, however, that turning a blind eye to problems was a rather childish thing to do, but some things I wasn’t prepared to deal with.  

By the time I made my way out the back door, I realized that yes, I was indeed pretty drunk. But it only hit me then, really. And in such an inebriated state I wanted to take every step back, to return standing in front of the man who I loved and had called me—in similar words—irrational, carless, reckless even, to tell him that of course I was bound to get drunk, I simply couldn’t and wouldn’t take this from him anymore. All the drama, all the countless people who never failed to attempt to get in between us; I could live without them, and if he was incapable of seeing the horrible effect it all had on me, then it was really him who was careless. I wanted to shout, to tell him that I was angry for dropping his faith in me as easily, to do something—anything to make things go back to normal…

But I was very drunk. Even for my own expanded standards and experiences, it was a lot a lot of alcohol I had consumed. And I was beginning to realize that as I casually sat on the grass of the yard, only to collapse on my back soon enough. It was the middle of the day, but when I looked up at the sky, I could almost see stars. And then blackness.

I couldn’t have possibly passed out; I was fully conscious when I drifted off to sleep. No dreams would come, though, only pure blackness highlighting my weariness.

It wasn’t too unusual of a feeling to awake in Bård’s bed by then, but it took me a while to realize how I could have ended up there. He must had seen me laying in his yard and carried me inside—it was my first assumption and as I struggled to get to my feet with the piercing headache, I knew I had to clear my suspicions out. But I couldn’t find Bård anywhere in the room, or the bathroom, nor the sitting room and kitchen. What made things worse was the throbbing headache I couldn’t ignore as I searched for him. And of course I began to typically panic, as I roamed the hallways of his house desperately trying to see at least a shadow which would tell me where he was, climbing up and down the stairs but never thinking of calling out his name, somehow foolishly expecting that he would magically appear before me. I couldn’t find him anywhere in the house.

And then, after having so pointlessly freaked out, I remembered Lene; that she was with us now. Perhaps he had taken her out—it was what I first considered, but I as I came to realize it was the middle of the night, I concluded that such a case was little likely. There was one room—among a few others, of course, but this one specifically—that I had never paid a visit to in Bård’s house, though. The little girl’s room. As some strings in my head got together and worked out the very likely location where Bård was, I felt a wave of nervousness splash me as it was that in order to see him I had to, of course, _see him_. The biggest problem wasn’t that I in no way knew which Lene’s room was, but more the fact that I couldn’t recall much of the previous—how many, _twelve hours_? Even the time lapse was a mystery.

With slow and uneven steps and travelled back to the bedroom, sprawled myself under the sheets and waited. But for what, really? Sleep that would never come? Or the lover who wouldn’t either?

For hours I turned and tossed in the fluffy duvets, my mind travelling with the speed of light, swamped with disorganized thoughts of worry, anger, confusion; plainly a turmoil that was only explainable to some certain extents. Nothing new, nothing unexperienced, and yet I was still reluctant to pull myself together and attempt finding a different perspective. At one point, though, I must have fallen asleep, because it was broad daylight that I awoke to, and the sight of Bård’s sun-illuminated form sitting on the edge of bed that first met me for the day. He wasn’t looking at me, his eyes focused on a blank point ahead.

I managed a muffled “Hey” in my raspy morning voice, insecurely, winning his attention in an instant.

There was a soft smile on his face. “Hey,” he echoed quite gently.

For a moment it felt like everything was alright, like the fight from the previous day had never happened. Like he hadn’t found me wasted, asleep in his yard. Like I hadn’t been looking for him around the house during the night. Like he hadn’t said what he had, and I hadn’t done what he disapproved of. Like we were just him and me, the happy and blatantly in love people who shut their minds off when it came to anything else in the world but us two. Too happy to be united once more.

But nothing was alright, really; it couldn’t be. Or could it?

“I’m sorry,” I remembered to say, but it came out as a boring mumble, though Bård didn’t seem to mind. His smile only grew as he shook his head.

“I should be apologizing just as well,” he told me, “I overreacted.”

“You were right, though,” I admitted plainly in a small voice. “I shouldn’t have drank that Vodka, I—I just didn’t know what to do.”

At that point, Bård extended his arm and it took me a moment to allow him take my hand in his. “I understand,” he told me softly, but then his features went all serious. “But… we have to talk about this.”

The silence was piercing, but I couldn’t find any words to say. I was looking at him, unblinking, waiting for him to take the lead and proceed to tell me whatever it was I needed to hear, although I desperately didn’t want to. All I wanted to know was that we were okay, that we could work through this little bump on the road, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask such a thing from him. It was too much.

And then he finally spoke, slowly, carefully. “I’ve been trying to be understanding. I know you’re younger than me, and alcohol and drugs are… I don’t know— _exciting_ , and with your band, I mean you’re always surrounded by substances I’ve probably never even heard of,” he chuckled lightly, looking at our locked hands, his thumb tracing soothing circles on my palm. I blinked at him expectantly, trying to see his point as well as I could, but failing to find much significance in the very obvious facts he was stating. “I do understand, actually. I’ve sort of been there—definitely not even in a similar situation, but you know me, I like fun and parties and all of that. And Vegard warned me, but I ignored him, I told myself you didn’t have a problem, that you know where to set boundaries, that you can keep your shit together. But maybe you do,” his voice was low, brows now furrowed, a slight frown curving his lips; “maybe you do have a problem,” he finished, sounding a little defeated.

I let out a long breath I didn’t notice I was holding. “Bård…”

“I’m not trying to blame you,” he was quick to emphasize, “I’m just trying to work through this with you. Because I really do care about you, Mary,” he drew his eyes up, dug his gaze into mine and seemed to wait. For a response, for a reaction; anything. But I didn’t know what exactly he wanted to hear.

“I know I crossed a line yesterday,” I admitted plainly. “I shouldn’t have drank so much in front of your ex and your daughter and… but I panicked, Bård. I didn’t know what to do. I had to calm down, and…” I trailed off, aware that there was really no reasoning he would accept. “I’m sorry,” I whispered in lack of anything better to say.

“You have to be honest with me, Mary,” he then said seriously. He drew in a long breath and made sure to look me in the eye. “Do you think I’m right?”

There was another set of silence, and for a moment I wanted to ask if he was sincerely considering this to be an option. I couldn’t believe that he had switched sides so easily just because I had a small slip up.

“That I have a problem?”

He nodded.

“No, Bård… no. I really don’t… I know what I’m doing, it’s not like I need it, I just—“

“Then why do you do it so often? Didn’t you say you felt like you _had_ to do drink yesterday?”

“It’s not like that. I wanted to, I… you know me, Bård, you know I…” and a wave of panic splashed me, my hand trembling against his; “and I don’t—I don’t do it often, I—“

“Mary,” he interjected calmly, “do you even remember how many times you’ve been drunk when you called during the previous month? Or high, or whatever.”

“But I was touring, I—no!” I jerked my hand away from his and sat up in one quick motion, folding my arms at my chest protectively. “No, no, no! You are not saying this! You cannot do this to me, Bård. You can’t! You can’t blame me for something that you have no idea what you are talking about!” My voice had raised involuntarily, but I paid no mind to it.

He did, though. “Let’s talk through this calmly, alright?”

“No! You are saying I’m an addict and I will not be calm about this! Jesus! Are you even listening to yourself?”

“Mary, you need to calm down, okay? I am not blaming you, I am only trying to talk to you. Sometimes in relationships you have to discuss things the other person is not happy with.”

“Not happy with?” I cited loudly. “Since when, Bård? You didn’t have a problem with any of this until yesterday!”

“And do you know what changed yesterday, huh?” he was shouting as well at that point, “Are you even aware of what you did?” There was something in his voice, adding more weight to his words.

“I fucking got drunk! Okay? That’s what I did. What’s the goddamn big deal? It’s not like you’ve never done it!”

“No, Mary, I’ve never been pissed drunk in front of my five year old daughter!”

And then silence, gnawing at my insides, persistently. It hung in the air like the suspended moment before a falling glass shatters on the ground, like a gaping void in need to be filled with sounds, words; anything. But I had no retort, no wise words. Nothing. The silence was poisonous in its nothingness, cruelly underscoring how vapid the conversation had become in its own subtext. I knew he didn’t want me to say anything in return, and I knew I could voice nothing to defend myself. But the silence was eerily unnatural, like a dawn devoid of birdsong, and as it seeped into my every pore, like a poison slowly paralyzing me from either speech or movement; I snapped back to my senses, hopped to my feet and for once more in the last twenty four hours, I felt the urge the run away.

In lack of much else I could do, I locked myself in the bathroom and stood in the same spot against the door for a few minutes. My head was pulsating painfully, and it was more than a simple hangover; Bård’s words stung me and left me breathless, swirling in my head in repetitive circles, my thoughts devoid of anything else but what he had said. Could it be possible that he no longer understood me, just as easily as that? What had happened to the incredible way we got along, without questioning one another, feeling connected and in love? It felt as though it had all disappeared in a split second. And for nothing. I was incapable of realizing what had changed; could it really be just the fact that I had drank that damn Vodka? It felt so childish, so pointless, so unimportant.

I went over to the sink, not even surprised to find dark circles around my eyes when I glanced at the mirror. It was when I reached over to turn the tap on, thinking that a splash of cold water could do more good than harm, that a soft knock on the door sounded. I stopped mid-motion, carefully listening, pondering for a moment that maybe I was only hearing what I wanted to, but then the sound repeated itself, and there was no doubt—Bård was on the other side, calling my name, asking me to come out, calmly.

Without much thought I walked all the way to the door, and then paused, taking in one last long breath before I turned the lock and let him enter.

His expression was so gentle, causing a terrible knot in my gut.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, and after a second, I sprung forward and hugged him.

We had shared so many of those, so many embraces, and yet it felt new all over. When he non-hesitantly wrapped his arms around me, so gentle and strong, he soothed me more than I expected. I needed him, like this, and there was nothing more to it. No matter what would happen, or what came to break us apart, I knew I needed him. I wanted nothing more than for him to feel the same way. But how could he, possibly? I was so different than him, perhaps not in a way he needed, although he seemed to think so… and maybe it was now when he realized that, after all, he could do much better.

“I’m so, so sorry,” I whispered in his ear, and he pulled me even closer. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” I told him honestly.

I really didn’t. It had nothing to do with the alcohol or drugs or anything; no, not really. I had no idea how to act to make something more of myself, for him generally, to somehow keep him in my life despite all my flaws.

He broke away so he could look at me as he spoke. “I can help you, Mary. I really want to. But you have to let me.”

“But I don’t have a problem, I…”

A single teardrop escaped my lashes and he was quick to wipe it away.

“Shhh,” he soothed. And he lowered his head, capturing my lips into his, a ghost of a kiss, letting out a long breath through his nose. When we parted, he fixed his gaze with mine, and observed me for a few moments. “I’m a father,” he said simply, “that’s not something I can or would like to change. And it bears so many responsibilities, and I’m sorry, but those extend to you as well in a way…”

“I know…” It might have been a whisper, but it was said in honesty.

“But if it’s too much for you, all you have to do is tell me.”

I contemplated for a short moment. “I’ve thought about it,” I admitted sincerely, “quite a lot, actually. But it’s something I cannot fully… grasp, you know? I haven’t been in a serious relationship for so long as it is, and a child…”

“Mary, if it’s too overwhelming, causing to turn to alcohol more or—“

I shook my head sadly. “Goodness, Bård, I didn’t get drunk because you have a daughter.”

He paused, his lips pursed, watching me carefully, patiently. I had nothing to add though, and he could see that. “Then what is it?”

Sighing, I pulled away. I could feel his eyes on me as I stepped slowly towards the bed, even though I only looked at him as I sat down. He followed suit, taking a seat next to me, watching me intently. “You know you can tell me anything.”

I swallowed hard. Unable to decide how smart of an idea it was to tell him how much drugs I really consumed on regular occasions, or how much of those I had snuck even in his house, I tried to search for an excuse, anything that could be said instead to draw the entire subject away. But there was no such thing. And so I did that only a day before I would have sworn to be impossible: I told him everything. How I hadn’t really been properly sober for such a long time now. How I had even consumed drugs in his home, sneaking them in the airplane. How I had to take an inglorious amount of cocaine just to be able to hop into the plane that brought me here. And by the end of it, the long and torturous monologue, I could really see why he thought I had a problem. Having said everything, all I had to do was to convince him that I had the upper hand, that I could get out any time I wanted to… But how?

“But I can stop any time I want to,” I said determinately, trying to sound as convincing as I possibly could. But at that point, not even I know who it was that I was trying to persuade into believing me; him or myself.

“Mary…”

Bård placed a hand over my shoulder, squeezed gently, watched me react. He didn’t seem upset, nor shocked at my revelation, almost as though he had known all along but chose to ignore it, or maybe he just accepted the situation for what it was and tried to drag the best out of it.

“I promise you I am alright,” I told him, fighting to keep my tone steady.

He looked a little doubtful for a while, but as he saw me struggling to keep tears from escaping, he leaned in and pulled me in a warm hug. As his arms enveloped me, I knew what I had to do in order to make it right for him, as he very well deserved.

“If it really means that much to you, I promise you I’ll be completely sober while I’m here, for as long as I’m staying.”

He broke away a little and a tiny smile played with his lips. There was a new spark in his eye. “Are you sure?”

I nodded confidently. “I promise,” I repeated and then we kissed.

And it was all fine, just like that. It was that our lives had been pressed on pause until we have resolved this problem with a simple promise, and they just went on after that. Cuddling in the bed for a while, telling each other how much we missed being together, how we wished to stay like this forever, we remained in the same spot, fervent whispers of love floating in the air around us.

After a while of that, we got up together and started the day. We struggled to make breakfast, very pretentiously attempting to make pancakes, out of which few unsuccessful experiments ended up thrown out, and after a few burned follow ups, we managed to produce something eatable. By the end of the experiment, the kitchen was a complete mess and although I insisted we clean up, he waved my suggestion off and told me we needn’t bother. His housekeeper would come the following morning and take care of it. I gave in when he kissed me. It was a Saturday and Bård had the day off work.

Lene was still asleep, so we brought her breakfast in bed. Freshly made pancakes with raspberry jam. She wore a warm grin from the moment she awoke, too happy to be with her father, and although I couldn’t communicate with her verbally, we shared shy smiles. It was overall a cozy atmosphere, and despite my insecurities I managed to relax completely, and to enjoy it all, even. We spent the day laughing, playing games, ordering food for the rest of the meals, watching cartoons on TV, living what I came to realize was the normal life for Bård. It was too different from my own, but wonderful in its own ways. I told myself I could get used to this. That maybe this was what I had been searching in life, with all my struggles to fit into society and ending up into my own secluded world in the end. Maybe I could live like this; with a man I loved, maybe even a child, making each other happy. At that point I asked myself why it had been so that I ever looked for something else. Wasn’t this everyone’s mutual dream?

When night came we were both exhausted and just went to sleep, collapsing into the bed in each other’s arms without doing as much as bringing up the heavy subject from the morning. I figured all was good at last, that he trusted me, that he knew I could take care of myself. And that he could love me like that.

Everything was alright, really, up until the following evening. It was then when my withdrawal began, something I wouldn’t acknowledge in my stubborn persistence that I was alright. But I wasn’t, and soon I would be obliged to admit such a case.


End file.
